


A Small Price To Pay

by cowgirl65



Category: The Big Valley
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Bondage, Double Penetration, Drug Addiction, Episode: s01e01 Palms of Glory, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Relationship, Gang Rape, Half-Sibling Incest, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, Power Exchange, Pre-Canon, Rough Oral Sex, Suicide, Violent Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirl65/pseuds/cowgirl65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jarrod makes a deal with Hannibal Jordan to protect the farms in the Valley and his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own The Big Valley and make no money from this.

Jarrod rubbed his face wearily. It had been a hard few weeks. A vision of bodies spattered with blood surfaced behind his closed eyelids and the young lawyer quickly opened his eyes. No one had realized that the conflict with the railroad would come to such carnage and Jarrod’s gut clenched as he remembered holding his father’s bloody body in his arms after they’d been ambushed. He wasn’t ready for this, to become head of his family and the one their friends and neighbours were looking towards to stop the railroad’s illegal land grab. He’d only been a lawyer for just over a year for gods sakes; fighting someone as powerful as Hannibal Jordan was well beyond his scope.

 _You’re a Barkley,_ Jarrod told himself firmly, _you’re older than Father was when he came to California with nothing and he built an empire. You have to succeed or live with your failure for the rest of your life._

Sighing, Jarrod looked back at the documents he was drawing up in preparation for what was sure to be a long, gruelling legal battle against the Coastal and Western Railroad. Once he was done, he could file them with the Supreme Court, leave Sacramento and head home to his family while he awaited the court's decision. He needed to be there for them and for himself, to try and heal the wounds left by Tom Barkley’s death. If he didn’t feel up to stepping into his father’s shoes, how must his twenty-two year old brother be feeling trying to run the ranch and gain the respect of men decades older than himself? Jarrod needed to be home to support Nick, he needed to be there as a strong arm for his mother and a shoulder for his youngest brother and sister to cry on.

He worked until he could no longer see the words clearly. Maybe he should take a break and get some dinner. But he didn’t really want to sit in the hotel’s crowded dining room, keeping a stoic face so no one knew how recent events were affecting him. Instead, he went down to the lobby and asked the desk clerk to have the restaurant send him up something to eat.

“I know I’ve never enjoyed eating alone.”

Jarrod’s gut clenched at the familiar voice. He debated pretending he hadn’t heard, but that would be taking the coward’s way. “Mr. Jordan,” he said as he turned to face the older man.

“Mr. Barkley.” Hannibal Jordan took a drag on his cigar and watched the smoke swirl away. “I was just going in for dinner myself. Maybe you’d like to join me.”

Jarrod could only think of one thing worse than eating dinner alone in the dining room and that was eating it with the man in front of him. “Maybe some other time.” He turned to leave, but halted when Jordan suggested, “How about I join you then? Many a satisfactory deal has been worked out behind closed doors over steak and brandy.”

Jarrod hesitated. Jordan was speaking the truth; he’d helped his father close more than one business deal that way since he came home from the war. Being alone with the unscrupulous rail baron made his skin crawl, but Jarrod knew he had to put aside his distaste for the sake of the greater good. “All right,” he agreed and told the desk clerk, “Make that for two, please, and a bottle of your best brandy.” He gestured for Jordan to precede him and followed the older man up the stairs.

Once in his room, Jarrod accepted Jordan’s offer of a cigar and the two men made small talk about the weather, the price of cattle and other irrelevant subjects, deliberately avoiding any mention of the land dispute or Tom Barkley’s death while they waited for the food to be brought up. It wasn’t a long wait and soon they were sipping the fine brandy and eating the succulent steak.

At least, Jarrod assumed the brandy was fine and the steak succulent. The meat felt like sawdust in his mouth and he wouldn’t have noticed if there was vinegar in his glass instead of liquor. He finally gave up and pushed back from the table.

“You said something about a satisfactory deal?”

Jordan smiled. Jarrod was reminded of a fox spying an unguarded henhouse and had an uneasy feeling. “I was very disturbed to hear about your father. I had no wish for events to turn so violent.”

“A pity others didn’t feel the same.” Jarrod had no reason to believe Jordan wasn’t behind the ambush that killed his father, but he wasn’t going to let it show until he knew how the meeting was going to proceed.

Jordan leaned forward, elbows on the table and his hands clasped. “I have a proposition for you, Jarrod. May I call you Jarrod?”

Jarrod gave a non-committal wave of his hand and Jordan continued.

“I’ve recently discovered we share some of the same… interests, if you will.”

Jarrod’s mouth grew dry. He can’t mean… The young lawyer refused to think the unthinkable.

But Jordan’s next words confirmed that the unthinkable was possible after all. “I’m a self-indulgent man, Jarrod, and the main reason I’ve amassed the wealth I have is so I can pursue those indulgences.” The lecherous look in his eyes confirmed Jarrod’s fear. “You’re a very well-favoured man and I have it on good authority that you don’t object to the attentions of other men. I’m willing to walk away from the farms in the San Joaquin Valley if you’ll come to my bed.”

Speechless, Jarrod could only stare at the man staring back at him. He thought he’d been discreet, but it obviously hadn’t been enough. It was during the war when he discovered his aberrant desires, the close quarters and need for an escape from the horrors of the battlefield providing ample opportunity for surreptitious gropings under the blankets, for bare bodies to strain against each other and the occasional daring of a wet mouth on a hungry groin. Jarrod mentally kicked himself for giving into his lusts that time in San Francisco, but the man had been hot and eager and Jarrod had stupidly ignored the possibility of others finding out.

“And if I say no?” Not that Jordan wasn’t physically attractive, but what he’d tried to do to Jarrod’s neighbours, not to mention his father’s death, plus his use of sex as a bargaining tool turned Jarrod’s stomach.

Jordan leaned back in his chair, took a sip if his brandy and smiled. “If you say no, our little dispute could turn uglier than it is already. I may abhor violence, but some of my associates don’t have my scruples.” Jarrod contained his snort of disbelief as Jordan continued, but his next words made the young lawyer’s blood go cold. “It would be tragic if, in their zeal to continue the fight, a stray bullet found an innocent like your mother or sister.”

It was blackmail of the worst kind and Jarrod briefly considered throwing it back in Jordan’s face. But only briefly. He could try; he could arrange for 24-hour protection for his family but knew too well that might not be enough. If had had to whore himself out to Jordan to keep them safe… Jarrod swallowed down the dinner that threatened to come back up at the prospect. His family was his life and he’d do what he had to to ensure their safety.

“You have a deal.” Jarrod almost didn’t recognize his own voice. “You won’t make a move against the farmers or my family and you can have me.” 

“Wonderful. How about right now?” 

Jarrod nodded; he might as well get it over with. Jordan walked over, pulled him to his feet and kissed him roughly. Jarrod didn’t respond; his hands clenched against the revulsion the other man’s attentions brought him.

Jordan chuckled. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to be all that willing. In fact, I’ll enjoy it more that way.” Large hands came up, grabbed the lapels of Jarrod’s shirt and buttons went flying as Jordan tore it off. Jarrod shuddered as Jordan’s hands roamed across his chest and it took all of his willpower not to flinch away, not to push off those hands that made his skin crawl. His pants suffered the same fate as his shirt and Jarrod found himself pushed back on the bed as Jordan wrenched off his boots to tear off his pants the rest of the way. 

Jordan stared at him and licked his lips. “What a beautiful, firm body,” he observed, his voice growing husky. “And think, soon you’ll be writhing beneath me as I take my pleasure from it.”

Jarrod forced himself not to cringe at the cruel gleam in those ice blue eyes. Yes, being with a man aroused him, but that was for the giving and receiving of mutual pleasure. Even though he’d agreed, this wasn’t going to be much different than rape.

The young lawyer shivered as Jordan started sucking his way across his chest and closed his eyes. He yelped when Jordan bit a tender nipple and brought tears to his eyes; Jarrod tried not to think about what was going to happen as his cock and balls were handled roughly. He’d been intimate with other men, but never to the point of actual sodomy. The thought of a thick cock shoved into his ass made his heart pound anxiously, but Jarrod had no doubt that was what Jordan planned to do.

He tried to ignore the hand squeezing and pinching his most private parts, but he couldn’t ignore the slick finger that pushed insistently between his buttocks. Breathing deep, Jarrod tried to relax but when Jordan forced that finger inside, even though it felt like he’d used some sort of oil, there was a sharp stab of pain.

“God you’re so tight,” Jordan muttered, pumping his finger in and out. “I bet you’re still a virgin. I can’t wait to have my cock in there.” 

Jarrod was roughly flipped onto his stomach. He felt Jordan’s hands on his shoulders holding him down and Jordan’s knees between his, spreading them apart. He wanted to cry out and tell Jordan that the deal was off, but the remembered sight of his father’s bloody body and staring lifeless eyes wouldn’t let him. A small price to pay, he tried to tell himself, but when he was brutally impaled on something hot and hard, Jarrod struggled to get away. He couldn’t move; Jordan had him firmly pinned to the mattress and all he could do was bite down on the sheets to stifle his scream. The other man didn’t take it slow either, thrusting ruthlessly with his hands gripping Jarrod’s shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he heard muttered again. “You’re one of the best things my cock’s been in for a long time.”

Jarrod thought he was being ripped apart. There was a flash of something that was almost like pleasure, but the revulsion he felt and the agony lancing through his body overwhelmed anything else. He clenched his hands tight and tried to concentrate on the bite of his fingernails into his palms instead of the searing pain tearing through him. The assault went on for what seemed like hours until there was a final excruciating stab and a grunt of satisfaction. He almost fainted with relief when Jordan pulled out and rolled him back over. There was a satisfied look on his face and Jarrod shuddered to see blood on the man’s cock.

“Bled just like a virgin,” Jordan told him smugly, “and I see you liked it too.”

How Jordan could believe that, Jarrod had no idea, but when he looked down, his cock was still partially erect and covered with sticky fluid. Jarrod cringed in shame and revulsion. His body had betrayed him; he’d cum from that brutal almost-rape, unwittingly or not, and if that got him off, what sort of depraved person was he? He lay there shivering as Jordan pulled his pants back on.

“Maybe we can do this again sometime,” Jordan told him, walking over to the table and tossing back the last of the brandy before he left the room.

Jarrod remained lying on the bed for a long time before he attempted to stand. Pain shot through him and he could feel a hot wetness dribble down his legs, but he resolutely put one foot in front of the other and tried to forget Jordan’s comment of ‘again’. Instead he thought about how lucky he was that the hotel had indoor plumbing and that he’d paid for a room with a bath as he reached the tub. He turned on the water and when he straightened up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A wave of revulsion went through him when he looked at his naked body, the bruises left by Jordan’s fingers and the swelling where Jordan’s teeth had sunk into his chest. He’d never been self-conscious before, if anything he was guilty of vanity where his appearance was concerned. But his body had betrayed him by its reaction to Jordan’s assault and now all the sight brought him was loathing and shame.

So he listened to the running water as the tub filled, the noise helping to block the memory of what happened from overwhelming him, but as he lowered himself into the tub, he couldn’t stop the devastating shame. Desiring men was a perversion in itself, but being brutally sodomized by a man he hated obviously aroused him and that was ten times worse. Jarrod scrubbed and scrubbed until his skin was raw, but he didn’t think he’d ever feel clean again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It isn’t uncommon for a man to ejaculate during a routine prostate exam, not the most arousing of situations. Erection and ejaculation are physiological responses that can result from mere physical contact or even extreme stress. Contrary to popular belief, even today, those responses do not imply that a man wanted or enjoyed being sexual assaulted.


	2. Chapter 2

Nick grabbed the suitcase out of Jarrod’s hand as soon as he got off the train and grabbed him by the shoulder. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, big brother.”

Jarrod searched his younger brother’s face. Nick looked tired and Jarrod could see the same sadness he felt in those hazel eyes. “It’s good to be home,” he said simply, glad he’d taken the first train he could get out of Sacramento to Stockton.

“Well, c’mon. Horses are over here.”

Jarrod concentrated on masking his pain as the two brothers walked across the train platform together. At least the seats in the first class coach were somewhat padded, but the bumping and jostling of the train hadn’t been kind to his battered backside. The first thing he was going to do when he got home was find some ice and spend at least half an hour lying in his bed on his belly.

“So?” Nick finally asked. “Did you get anywhere with the Coastal and Western?”

Jarrod kept his face impassive. “I met with Jordan and he’s going to walk away from the whole thing,” was all he said. What else could he to tell Nick? That he’d agreed to be Jordan’s whore in exchange for dropping the fight? That he’d practically sold his soul to the devil for his family’s safety?

Nick stopped and Jarrod stopped with him. “You’re joking. After all the deaths and all the threats…?” He looked at his brother skeptically.

Taking a deep breath, Jarrod responded, “He said he was disturbed that things had turned so violent and we were able to work from that.”

Nick opened his mouth to question further, but he must have seen something on Jarrod’s face and let the matter drop. “Everyone’ll be glad to hear it’s over.” Jarrod sighed in relief that he’d gotten off so easily, at least for now. “Mother’s waiting for us and Silas made all your favourites for dinner,” Nick said as they continued on to where two horses were tethered. Jingo whickered a greeting and Jarrod rubbed the sorrel’s neck.

“Good to see you too, old boy.” Fastening his case to the back of the saddle, Jarrod mounted and the brothers turned the horses’ noses towards the ranch. He knew he had to come up with something to tell Nick; just because the matter was dropped now didn’t mean he was off the hook. But he wasn’t able to work out what else to say; if he thought the train ride was bad, the trip to the ranch was far worse. Every time Jingo’s hooves hit the ground, the impact send waves of pain up his body. He gritted his teeth; there was no choice other than to endure, but he was pale and sweaty by the time they rode through the gate.

Jarrod stumbled when he dismounted and Nick looked at him critically. “You all right, Jarrod?”

Jarrod nodded and gave Nick a weak smile as he wiped his forehead. “Just tired. I’m looking forward to a long nap in my own bed.” But he’d already noticed that Nick looked tired too and that gave him an excuse to redirect the conversation. “How are you holding up?”

Nick shrugged. “I had to let Rawlins go.”

The ease of that simple statement contradicted the pain in Nick’s eyes and Jarrod hid his surprise. Hank Rawlins had been the ranch foreman for as long as he could remember and he’d always been their father’s right hand man. “What happened, Nick?”

“He started calling me a green youngster and kept trying to undermine the fact that I’m in charge now,” Nick admitted with a deep sigh. “It’s hard enough trying to run this place without Father without it being thrown in my face that I’m not him.”

“You did right, Nick.” Jarrod gave his brother a reassuring clap on the back. “No, you’re not Father, but you’re Nick Barkley and that should be good enough for anyone. I’ll back your calls, Nick. There won’t be any question of who runs this ranch.”

Nick nodded. “Thanks, Jarrod. You go have that nap and I’ll take care of Jingo.”

“Thanks.” Jarrod walked slowly to the house and set his hat on the table once inside. He heard the swish of his mother’s skirts before he saw her, so he had time to smooth his strained expression into a pleasant smile.

“Hello, lovely lady.” He bent down for her to kiss his cheek and then gave her a hug. “How are you doing?” She looked sad and tired, the same as his brother did.

Jarrod felt his mother lean against him. “Managing. Keeping busy. But I’m glad you’re home.”

He placed a gentle kiss on her head. “And hopefully I won’t have to leave anytime soon.” With the railroad threat gone, Jarrod didn’t have any plans to go out of town on business. He’d only have to leave if… He willed the thought away, knowing if Jordan really meant it when he said ‘again’, he’d have no choice but to go.

Victoria took a step back. “You look tired, dear,” she said after a long look. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap? I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready.”

Jarrod nodded gratefully. “I believe I will. I’m just going to get a drink of water from the kitchen first.” His luck was with him; she didn’t follow and the kitchen was empty. He was able to grab some ice from the icebox without having to explain and no one saw him make his painful way up the back stairs. Closing and locking his door behind him, Jarrod leaned back against it in relief for a moment before walking over to the dresser. He slowly removed his clothes and draped them neatly over the back of a chair. 

Jarrod avoided looking in the mirror; seeing his reflection would only be a disturbing reminder of what happened at Jordan’s hands. He just crawled onto his bed and set the ice on his throbbing backside with a sigh of relief. It didn’t really matter what he’d done; after all, he’d risked his life on the battlefield for something he believed in and he’d never hesitate to step in front of a bullet to protect someone he loved. In that light, this wasn’t any different.

Somewhat comforted by that thought, Jarrod was actually able to fall asleep and didn’t wake until he heard a tap at the door and his mother’s voice.

“Jarrod? Dinner’ll be served in about twenty minutes.”

Yawning, he replied, “Thank you, Mother. I’ll be right down.”

The ice had melted, leaving a large wet spot on the blankets, but at least the pain was less. As he pulled on some clean pants and a shirt, Jarrod decided to check the medicine cupboard in the bathing room in the hope that there might be some sort of salve or liniment that would help with the pain. 

His luck was with him. There was a jar of ointment that they used for strained muscles and if it didn’t help, at least it shouldn’t hurt. He generously applied it to his battered ass and it did feel soothing, so he took the jar back to his room to use again later. 

Dinner was quiet. Audra and Gene greeted him enthusiastically when they first saw him, but other than everyone’s relief that the railroad conflict was apparently settled, the conversation was subdued. The empty chair at the head of the table dominated the room and everyone keenly felt Tom Barkley’s absence. Jarrod wasn’t sure if his mother would ask him to take that place someday, but for now he was content to sit beside Nick.

Gene and Audra excused themselves to do their homework when the meal was done and Nick went to check on a mare that was close to foaling, leaving Jarrod alone with his mother.

“You need more sleep, dear,” she told him in no uncertain terms. “I want you to go to bed and I don’t want to see you until tomorrow morning.”

Jarrod controlled himself in time to avoid making an incredulous snort. Did she really see him as a child in need of direction, after serving in a brutal war and taking his father’s place these past several weeks, not to mention what he’d just arranged with Jordan? But he immediately felt guilty. She was his mother, he reminded himself; she had a right to be concerned. It was understandable she’d be more mothering to her adult son after so tragically losing her husband and Jarrod knew his reaction was mostly due to his pain and his disgust with himself. He knew how much she loved him and he loved her in return, so he kissed her check and gave in. “Of course, lovely lady.” He climbed the stairs to his room and hoped Jordan wouldn’t actually call for him again.


	3. Chapter 3

Jarrod nodded to himself as he looked around the room. With all the various Barkley holdings, he was spending more and more time in San Francisco and it made sense for him to open an office there. The furnished space was on a busy street, a quick cable car ride to the courthouse and the rent wasn’t too dear, so Jarrod turned to the landlord with a smile. “I think you have yourself a deal, Mr. Jamison,” he said.

The dapper man shook Jarrod’s extended hand with a firm grip. “Glad we could do business, Mr. Barkley.” He opened the leather folder on the desk and pulled out some papers. “I have the lease agreement right here. I’m sure you’ll want to look it over before you sign it, so why don’t you drop it off at my office later this afternoon?”

“Sounds fine.” They left the building together and shook hands before they parted ways. Jarrod returned to his hotel, grabbed a pencil and went over the contract. An hour later, after adding a right of first refusal clause so he could buy the building if Jamison ever decided to sell, he was satisfied with the agreement and decided to have lunch before meeting the other man to sign the deal.

As the maître d’ showed him to his table, Jarrod heard a voice that made his blood run cold.

“Jarrod, what an unexpected pleasure.”

He debated pretending he didn’t hear, but knew he wouldn’t get away with it. So he did his best to keep his expression bland as he turned to face the older man. “Jordan,” he said curtly.

The rail baron gave him a predatory smile and Jarrod cringed when he licked his lips slowly before dabbing them with a napkin.

“Why don’t you join me for lunch?” Jordan invited, indicating an empty chair. The denial was on the tip of Jarrod’s tongue when Jordan added firmly, “I insist.”

Taking a deep breath to help push back his anxiety, Jarrod nodded and the maître d’ pulled out the chair for him to sit. He wasn’t even sure what he ordered when he agreed to the day’s special; the heat of Jordan’s eyes on him had turned his stomach to knots.

Jordan didn’t seem to notice that Jarrod didn’t take much part in the conversation or, Jarrod thought bitterly, it was more likely that he did notice and was taking a perverse enjoyment in the young lawyer’s discomfort. He did manage to choke down a few bites of the tasteless meal, but his lunch threatened to come back up when Jordan said, “I think we should continue our agreement from a few months ago. Why don’t you come with me and we can get right to it.”

Jarrod set his fork down slowly. He’d never made up his mind what he would do if Jordan made good on his promise of ‘again’ and wasn’t sure if he could actually let Jordan fuck him again. So he tried to dissemble and replied, “I have quite a bit of business to take care of. I don’t think I’ll have the time.”

“A pity.” Jordan leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “I hear your sister is growing into quite the young lady,” he said in an apparent change of subject.

“Yes, she is.” It wasn’t hard to recognize the veiled threat and Jarrod did his best to control his fear for his family and his revulsion over what he knew he was going to do. 

A small, satisfied smile played on Jordan’s lips. “Maybe your business will be done after dinner? Say, eight o’clock?”

Jarrod nodded reluctantly and Jordan’s smile turned to one of triumph. He pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from his pocket and scribbled down an address. “Meet me here. I’ll be waiting.” He pushed back from the table. “Don’t worry about the bill, I’ll take care of it.”

Jarrod’s hand clenched tightly in his lap as Jordan strode away. It was true what was said, that once Dane-geld was paid, one never got rid of the Dane. He wished he had the courage to stand up to Jordan and refuse, but the thought of his innocent little sister stopped him. Maybe in the future he’d have the confidence that he could protect her and the rest of his family, but at that moment, giving in to Jordan’s perverted demands was the best way he had to keep them safe.

 

The address was in a seedy area down by the docks and Jarrod had the hack drop him off at a slightly more respectable location. It was a few minutes’ walk to his destination and when he got there, Jarrod eyed the shabby hotel dubiously. Two mongrel dogs quarreled over a bone, the place looked like it hadn’t seen new paint since before the war and he could see a drunk obviously urinating against the wall by the dim glow from the one working gaslight. Well, at least no one would recognize him there, Jarrod told himself as he pushed open the creaky door.

He entered a dimly-lit room and walked over to the desk. There was no one on duty so Jarrod just made his way up the rickety stairs, figuring he could find room 7 on his own. The hall wasn’t any better lit than the front entrance, which to Jarrod’s mind was a good thing. That way the stains on the grimy, peeling wallpaper weren’t overly recognizable and he didn’t have to see what was causing the odour emanating from the dark carpet.

The last door had a faint ‘7’ outlined on it and Jarrod hesitated. It wasn’t too late; he could just walk away and enlist Nick’s help to keep everyone safe from Jordan’s threats. But Nick would ask questions and it wasn’t hard for him to tell when his older brother was hiding something. There was no way Jarrod wanted his tough rancher brother to know what he’d already let Jordan do to him; he’d lose most, if not all, of Nick’s respect if he found out. Besides, Jordan had already kept his part of the bargain; there’d been no further moves from the railroad and there wasn’t even a hint of threat to the family. 

So Jarrod knocked lightly and forced himself to turn the doorknob when that hated voice called, “Come in.”

The room wasn’t much better than the hall, though the bed linens at least looked clean. Jordan was seated behind a rickety table drinking whiskey, likely a better blend than could be found in this neighbourhood. 

“I’m glad to see you’re punctual,” he told Jarrod before he set his glass down and leaned back. “Take off your clothes,” he said with out any further preamble.

Gritting his teeth, Jarrod did as he was told and set his folded clothes neatly on the floor. Jordan’s gaze roved obscenely over his body as the older man stood up and walked over. “Now take off mine.”

Jarrod’s hands shook as he unbuttoned Jordan’s shirt. It was one thing to just lie there and be used; it was another to have to actively participate. He had to get down on his knees to tug Jordan’s trousers off and Jordan helped by stepping out of them and kicking them aside. He started to stand, but Jordan’s hands on his shoulders forced him back to his knees and then fingers fisted in Jarrod’s hair to force him to face Jordan’s erect cock.

“I want your mouth on me. I want you to suck me off like the little whore you are.”

Jarrod tried to tell himself it wouldn’t be too bad as he slowly slid his lips over the swollen head; it wasn’t as though he hadn’t taken another man’s cock in his mouth before. But it was different, he realized as he gagged on the thick organ. He’d done it before not because he had to but because he actually wanted to and that made all the difference. Then, with his hands pulling Jarrod’s hair tightly, Jordan forced Jarrod’s head right up into his groin and thrust his cock down Jarrod’s throat. Over and over he mashed his hips into Jarrod’s face and Jarrod felt like he was suffocating as he started to choke. He brought his hands up, reflexively pushing and hitting at Jordan’s thighs in a struggle to get away, to be able to breathe, and sagged in relief when Jordan pulled out. Jarrod gasped for air, but his respite was short-lived. Jordan must have retrieved some rope, because Jarrod’s arms were forced behind his back and his hands were tied tightly. 

“We can’t have that,” Jordan said as he pulled the rope even tighter and Jarrod barely had time to register what was happening before Jordan’s hands were gripping his hair again and his cock was shoved back into his mouth.

Jarrod couldn’t even breathe enough to choke this time; saliva dribbled down his chin and tears streamed out of his eyes as Jordan mercilessly fucked his throat. He started to grow lightheaded from the lack of air and couldn’t even try to struggle. He finally felt Jordan spill his seed down his throat and thought it would be over, but Jordan continued to push Jarrod’s face into his groin and hold himself in deep. Jarrod could feel the other man’s cock slowly move out of his throat as Jordan’s erection subsided; semen leaked out of the corner of his mouth and he was finally able to gasp for air. He didn’t know what Jordan would do if he vomited so he desperately controlled himself and forced down the rest of the semen that coated his throat.

Jarrod felt Jordan flick his limp cock. “It didn’t look like you had any fun at all,” the older man commented. “We can’t have that.” Jarrod was forced to his feet and the bed creaked when he was shoved onto it. “You just lie there and catch your breath,” Jordan told him with an evil lee as he tugged on Jarrod’s penis. “I’ll be ready to go again in a few minutes and then we’ll see if we can’t get this little fellow to perform.”

Jarrod didn’t even bother to wonder how Jordan could think he’d have fun as he lay there. He just breathed deeply, trying to recover, and wished he was able to wipe off the fluids drying on his face and rinse the disgusting taste of Jordan out of his mouth.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it definitely wasn’t enough before Jordan loomed over him, his hard cock again jutting out from between his legs. “Your mouth was fine, but now I want that tight ass.” 

Jarrod hoped the other man’s cock was glistening because he’d slicked it up and not just from his leftover saliva. But it really didn’t matter; the pain was still excruciating when Jordan forced himself inside. This time, Jarrod was able to see his assailant’s face and he had to close his eyes before the perverse enjoyment made him sick, even though he couldn’t avoid hearing the grunts of pleasure. 

“It’s almost a shame that I’m the only one enjoying your ass,” Jordan groaned as he picked up the pace and Jarrod tried not to whimper as the pain grew more intense.

Then a hand was wrapped roughly around his cock and Jarrod wished he were dead when he felt himself respond. He tried to stop his reaction, but when Jordan hit him inside in a certain way and tugged on him hard, Jarrod’s seed spilled out in spite of himself. Jordan gave a few more sharp thrusts and a satisfied grunt, but Jarrod hardly noticed. He was drowning in shame from his body’s obvious enjoyment of what happened and wondered what kind of man he really was. 

“See, I told you you’d perform.” Jordan’s voice was smug and Jarrod didn’t have to open his eyes to know his expression likely matched his tone. Jordan untied his hands and gave his a sharp smack on the ass. “I’ll let you know when I want to see you again. I trust you can see yourself out.” 

Jarrod didn’t bother to respond with anything other than a slight nod and didn’t move until he heard the door close and Jordan’s footsteps retreat down the hall. Only then did he get up and make his way to the washstand. He couldn’t bear to look at himself as he took the threadbare towel and used the musty water in the pitcher to clean himself the best he could.


	4. Chapter 4

Jordan had summoned him several times over the past few months and as before when Jarrod entered the seedy hotel room, the rail baron was sitting at the small table, sipping liquor and making notes.

“Right on time.” Jordan put down the pencil. “Strip.”

There was no reason not to do as he was told; the fact that he didn’t want to had no bearing in that room. As soon as he entered he belonged to Jordan; by his own agreement he surrendered all his dignity and became Jordan’s whore rather than his own man.

So Jarrod took off his clothes, set them neatly on a chair and stood naked while he waited for Jordan to tell him what to do next.

“I’ve still got some work to do,” Jordan said, “so get under the table and suck me off while I finish.”

Jarrod gulped uncomfortably. He hated taking Jordan’s cock in his mouth; the taste of that thick organ and the fluid Jordan forced him to swallow only made him want to vomit. 

But he crawled under the table and unfastened Jordan’s trousers anyway. Jordan’s cock was standing fully erect and Jarrod took a deep breath before put his lips around it. Slowly, he started to suck on the crown, but Jordan’s hand came down hard on the back of his head and forced it all the way down. Jarrod tried but he couldn’t help gagging as the thick shaft slid into his throat.

“That’s it,” Jordan told him, grabbing Jarrod’s hair painfully and pulling his head up before forcing it back down to hold it tight to his groin. Jarrod’s eyes started to water and he started choking; saliva dribbled out of the corner of his mouth when Jordan pulled him up and Jarrod barely had time for a small breath before his head was shoved down again. This time Jordan held him there longer, making small thrusts and it took all Jarrod had not to struggle as his vision sparkled from lack of air. “Fuck, I love choking you on it,” Jordan muttered. 

Jarrod gasped for air when Jordan pulled him off his cock, but the respite was short lived. Jordan pushed him down on the floor, pinned Jarrod’s arms down with his knees and held his hips as he straddled his head. Then his body came down and Jordan started fucking Jarrod’s throat in earnest. Jarrod couldn’t even choke, Jordan’s cock was shoved in so far, and he almost blacked out. He wasn’t sure how long it went on before Jordan pulled out and held his cock steady as his seed shot out to mix with the saliva and tears covering Jarrod’s face.

Jordan got off him and kicked him hard in the ribs. “Get up,” he ordered. Jarrod tried but was only able to roll over and make it to his hands and knees. “Well, if you can’t walk,” Jordan’s voice was laced with scorn, “crawl over to the bed and bend over the bench. You deserve to be on your knees.”

Jarrod shakily crawled over and bent over the bench at the end of the bed like he was told. Jordan immediately looped ropes around his knees and fastened them, splayed, to the sides and tied his hands behind his back. Jordan swiped something slick between his buttocks and then left him. Jarrod could hear the scratching of the pencil as he returned to his paperwork.

Jarrod wasn’t sure how long he was there and the cramps in his back and legs grew unbearable. But that was all forgotten when he heard a knock on the door and the scrape of Jordan’s chair as he got up to answer it.

“Come on in, make yourself at home.”

“I certainly will,” a deep voice answered. Jarrod’s humiliation grew, knowing he was tied there bare-assed with a stranger looking on. He started to suspect what was going to happen, but refused to believe it until his buttocks were caressed and pinched roughly. “You weren’t exaggerating what a fine ass you’d have waiting,” the voice said. “He looks so inviting, it’s like he’s presenting himself like a randy mare in heat.”

“Be my guest,” Jordan replied and Jarrod bit his lip to keep from whimpering when he was breached by a thick cock.

“Fuck, he’s nice and tight,” the other man commented as he thrust viciously into Jarrod’s ass. “He is one sweet ride.” His fingers dug into Jarrod’s hips and it wasn’t long before he grunted and shuddered in his climax. To his shame, Jarrod’s cock swelled in response just like before, and he was further humiliated when the other man noticed. “I see our little whore likes it too, I see.”

“Oh, he’s a slut, all right,” Jordan agreed. “But he can wait for our other guests.”

Jarrod cringed. Not only was he Jordan’s whore, now he was being forced to service the man’s associates as well. He heard Jordan greet three more arrivals and closed his eyes tightly as each of them took a turn, none of them gently. His ass was throbbing when the first man pushed his way inside again and this time a hand grabbed his cock. “I think our little mare deserves some fun too,” he said as he fucked and stroked Jarrod roughly and Jarrod almost cried when his body betrayed him and his seed splattered on the floor.

Then, to make matters worse, his head was pulled up and he saw a large cock in front of his face. “Wrap those sweet lips around me, bitch, so I can cum down your throat.” He caught a glance of the man leering down at him, then his vision was obscured as the cock was shoved down his throat and he was fucked from both ends at the same time.

Jarrod had no idea how long it went on. Every man took multiple turns in his ass and his mouth, sometimes slapping and pinching him as well, and all of them called him the filthiest names he could think of. Jarrod lost count of how many times they made him cum in their hands against his will and his balls and penis throbbed with the rough treatment. But eventually he was left alone. He heard the door, heard Jordan bid farewell to his associates and then his hands and legs were finally untied.

“I think you were born to be a whore.”

Jarrod pushed himself slowly to his knees and shuddered at Jordan's malicious expression. The man didn't say a word to him as he gathered his papers, tucked them in a folder and left the room. 

Jarrod barely managed to make it to the washbasin. He took handfuls of water and swished and spit, trying to get some of the foul taste out of his mouth before cleaning himself the best he could. Legs trembling badly, he wasn't sure if he could make it out of the room and down the stairs so he crawled onto the bed and wrapped himself tightly in the stained blanket. The pain and exhaustion conspired together and he eventually passed out.


	5. Chapter 5

Jarrod knew what the telegram said before he even opened it. His hand clenched, crumpling the paper as he read it.

_Be there Friday_

He closed his eyes tightly. The bile rose in his throat as the memory of being repeatedly raped by Jordan’s associates came back full force and Jarrod forced it down. He couldn’t do it anymore. He wasn’t sure if he could do anything if the Coastal and Western went after the farms in the valley, but when he’d gotten back home, he’d arranged for protection for his family. At least he shouldn’t have to worry about his family when he told Jordan the deal was off.

Scribbling a quick message to tell Jordan it was finished, he handed it to the waiting messenger and when the boy left his office, Jarrod breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. He no longer had to submit to Jordan’s cruelty and humiliation and got back to work with an easier mind.

 

Jarrod was gathering up his papers to head home when the messenger tapped on his door again. 

“Mr. Barkley? A reply to your message, sir.”

Jarrod took the paper with trepidation.

_Your mind will change_

His stomach knotted in fear and something told him he needed to get home right away. He barely remembered to tip the messenger before he locked the office behind him and immediately retrieved his horse to ride for home.

Jingo was lathered and blowing when they thundered through the gate and even though he usually saw to his mount’s needs first, he just tossed the reins to the first stable hand he saw and rushed to the house.

But he was intercepted by one of the ranch hands he’d hired, without Nick’s knowledge, to watch their sister. 

“Mr. Barkley, Miss Audra realized I was keeping an eye on her.” The man’s face was apologetic. “She took off on that black gelding of hers. I tried to follow, but my horse stumbled and I lost her.”

Oh, god, Audra. “You probably did what you could,” Jarrod assured him, but his heart was full of dread. “Get some of the men. Let Nick know she’s missing and start looking for her. I’ll be along in a moment.”

The man nodded and went to get a horse. Jarrod slumped against one of the pillars. How could he really have thought Jordan couldn’t get to them? Especially his sister. Headstrong, wilful little Audra whose rebellious streak had only intensified since their father’s death and who would never let anyone try to protect her. If something had happened to her, Jarrod had only himself to blame. Did it really matter what he was subjected to at Jordan’s hands if it meant his little sister was kept from harm? She might just be out riding, he told himself. She might come back all on her own. But he didn’t really believe it. Pushing himself off the pillar, Jarrod headed out in search of his missing sister.

 

Jarrod was soon joined by his youngest brother Gene. Being only a year apart in age, Gene and Audra were incredibly close and Jarrod practically had to force Gene to stop searching when it grew too dark to see. He sent the tired youngster straight to the house when they got home and took both horses to the barn himself. 

Nick was there, pulling the saddle off his dark horse. “Any luck?”

Jarrod shook his head wearily, eyes downcast as he loosened the girth. “No.” He didn’t know if he could ever look any of his family in the eye again if something had happened to Audra.

“Of all the stubborn, obstinate…” Nick muttered under his breath as he rubbed down Coco. “When she gets back, I swear I’m gonna tan her backside, then lock her in her room and throw away the key.”

Jarrod winced. There was a very good chance she was already locked away and if she’d been taken on Jordan’s orders and those associates were anything like the others Jarrod had met… He refused to let his mind go there. She had to be all right.

He and Nick took care of the horses and headed to the house, but again they were intercepted by one of the men.

“Mr. Barkley,” the cowboy said, holding a yellow paper out to Jarrod, “this was delivered for you.”

Telegrams were starting to make Jarrod sick to his stomach. But he forced himself to take it and open it.

_Business will be concluded satisfactorily upon your arrival_

Jarrod knew exactly what business it meant. He folded the telegram and stuffed it into his pocket. “I think Audra was kidnapped, Nick. I need to go to San Francisco.”

Nick scowled. “Ransom demand?”

“Just a lead. You keep looking around here.” Jarrod grabbed Nick’s arm, as much to reassure himself as his brother. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can.” 

Nick nodded grimly. “Don’t make me come looking for you, too.”

Jarrod forced a smile and nodded back before heading to the barn to get another horse to ride into town and catch the next train to San Francisco and Hannibal Jordan.

 

“Come in.” Jordan looked up from his food as Jarrod entered room 7. “I see you came to your senses.”

Jarrod stood firm. This was his choice, he reminded himself. “Let her go, Jordan.”

Jordan dabbed at his face with a napkin. “Our deal still stands?”

“It does.” Jarrod forced himself to breathe as Jordan got to his feet and came over. He spun Jarrod around, tied his hands behind him tightly with the napkin, dragged him to the bed and pushed him down. He tore Jarrod’s pants open and pulled them down until his boots stopped them. “Just so you don’t change your mind while I send a message. Don’t worry, the little fool might be scared, but she isn’t hurt.”

Jordan left the room. Jarrod could only lie on his back, stare at the ceiling and imagine the horrors Jordan had in store for him.

He didn’t have to wait long; Jordan returned a few minutes later. Locking the door behind him, he rolled up his sleeves and retrieved something from the suitcase in the corner. “You do know you need to be punished,” Jordan told the bound man as he swished the whip through the air with a whistle. “And you need to be reminded who you belong to.”

Jarrod gritted his teeth as Jordan rolled him onto his stomach to expose his backside. His father had switched him a couple times when he was younger, but never often and never very hard. This was bound to be much worse.

He tried, but he couldn’t stop a yelp at the stripe of pain from the first stroke.

“We can’t have someone hear you.” Jordan grabbed a handful of Jarrod’s hair, forcing his head up, and a rag was stuffed in his mouth. Then the whipping started in earnest. In a way, Jarrod was thankful for the cloth that almost choked him; it gave him something to bite on as the pain radiated through him with every blow. He tried not to show anything, but the agony was such that tears streamed down his face and he couldn’t help small whimpers from escaping.

Then the blows stopped and Jarrod was able to breathe for a moment. But Jordan pulled his head up by his hair again and held a blood-smeared hand in front of his face. He moved around so Jarrod could see that he’d stripped off his pants and then Jordan made a show of coating his erect penis with Jarrod’s blood.

“I think this should go in nice and slick.” Jordan moved out of sight and it wasn’t long before he was thrusting hard into Jarrod’s ass, making the torment of the beating even worse with the brutal fucking. Jarrod couldn’t take any more; the lack of sleep, worry for Audra and the severe pain conspired together and he blacked out.

But the blissful darkness didn’t last long. Jarrod woke to a searing pain in his cheek and his head snapped to the side when Jordan’s hand struck him again.

Jordan leered as Jarrod’s eyes opened and Jarrod flinched when the hand came down again, but that time Jordan only gave his cheek a condescending pat. “Now you’ll be a good boy and come when I ask next time, won’t you?” 

Jarrod was shaky and sweating but managed a weak nod. 

“Good.” Jordan patted his cheek again before reaching around to untie Jarrod’s hands. “I have to go. I’ll trust you to see yourself out.”

Jarrod slumped back and rubbed his wrists as Jordan left. He struggled upright, flinching when the dried blood caused the covers to stick to his abused back and buttocks, but he managed to pull off his boots and take his pants off the rest of the way. He was thankful there was water in the washbasin as he grabbed a towel and did the best he could to clean the blood and semen from his legs and backside. Dressing slowly, Jarrod was glad at least one button was still fastened to his pants and limped down to the lobby of the shabby hotel and out to the street.

He was able to hail a cab not far away and as he was bumped and jostled along the streets, Jarrod hoped he wouldn’t pass out before they got to Baldwin’s Hotel where he’d arranged for a room before he went to meet Jordan. He was able to hang on, but he was still surprised that he could walk when they got there.

Another telegram was waiting for him when he retrieved his key, this one from his brother, and Jarrod read it quickly. 

_Audra home safe_

Jarrod breathed a sigh of relief. It had been worth it. “Can you send a reply for me?” he asked the hotel clerk. “That I got the message but I need to be in the city for a few days?” It would take a few days until he was recovered enough to go home without any awkward questions.

“Of course, Mr. Barkley,” the clerk said and Jarrod tried not to limp on his way up the stairs to his room. Once safely inside with the door locked, Jarrod collapsed face down across the bed and hoped he wouldn’t wake any time soon as he slipped into unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

Jarrod was already in San Francisco working on a case when he received Jordan’s summons. In the few years since Audra’s kidnapping, he’d become resigned to being Jordan’s whore. He was only called for every couple months and over time his stomach knotted less and less with anxiety and disgust when he obeyed his master’s demands.

He did need the papers filed by that afternoon, however, and sent Jordan a reply that he’d be at the hotel before dinnertime. Once he had all the documents in order, he took some time to oil himself up before heading out. Jordan didn’t usually waste time preparing him before fucking him, so Jarrod had gotten in the habit of doing it beforehand. It just made things easier.

He dropped the papers off at the courthouse, ignored his stomach’s growls and headed straight to his assignation with Jordan. The other man wasn’t usually patient, but Jarrod knew he’d wait even though he’d find some way to punish him for the delay. He only hoped that it wouldn’t leave any permanent marks. There were too many of those already.

Jarrod entered the shabby hotel and went straight upstairs to room 7. He knocked, waited for Jordan’s “Come in”, took a deep breath and entered.

Jordan was sitting at the small table and was eating a sumptuous dinner that Jarrod didn’t think came from the hotel kitchen, assuming it actually had one.

“Take off your clothes and come here,” Jordan ordered without even looking up from his meal. Jarrod did as he was told and Jordan momentarily took his attention from the food. He picked up a small ring, worked it so it sat up against Jarrod’s balls and snugly encircled his penis. “Lie down on the bed and make sure you’re hard by the time I’m done. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” 

Jarrod but lay down on the bed like he’d been told, slowly started stroking himself and hoped he could carry out Jordan’s demand. He wasn’t really sure what the ring was for and tried to concentrate on the sensations of his hand rather than thinking about what was going to happen. It worked somewhat; he was partially erect by the time Jordan came over and the other man didn’t look displeased. Jordan wrapped his own hand around Jarrod’s cock and jerked it roughly several times.

“Better,” he commented as Jarrod’s shaft swelled. “And that ring will keep you like that so I can enjoy the view.” But to Jarrod’s surprise, Jordan didn’t pull out his own penis and start fucking him; instead, he took his pistol from a drawer in the nightstand and started rubbing the barrel with a cloth. “You were late,” he stated bluntly as he polished the gun and dread built in the pit of Jarrod’s stomach. “I know you were only at your office and yet you made me wait.” Jordan turned a cold eye on Jarrod. “I don’t like waiting.” He held up the gun and admired the shine before he abruptly shoved the barrel into Jarrod’s ass. Jarrod froze in shock and from the pain of the hard rim of the muzzle scraping his tender flesh. 

Jordan slowly started fucking Jarrod with the cold steel, in and out and twisting at the same time. “I hope it’s not too uncomfortable,” he said with a leer. It hurt when the hard edge rubbed over that certain spot inside him, but it also sent small jolts of electricity through his groin and Jarrod was surprised to feel more blood go to his cock.

Then the almost pleasurable sensations were joined by terror as Jordan forced the barrel in as far as it would go and cocked the hammer. “What do you think? Do you think it might be loaded?” He started pumping in small, sharp thrusts.

“Jordan…” Jarrod couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice. He knew Jordan was fully capable of pulling the trigger and even though a bullet through his gut would mean he wouldn’t be Jordan’s plaything ever again, he didn’t want to die like that. 

Jordan grinned maliciously before he slowly let down the hammer and started thrusting with the gun more rapidly. “Do you want to cum?” he asked, twisting it again to make Jarrod writhe on the bed. “Will you beg me to fuck you with my gun and make you cum? Or should I get a bigger weapon?” He left the gun inside Jarrod so he could unfasten his pants to reveal the large cock and then started moving the pistol again, hitting that spot that started to make Jarrod want more.

“Please,” Jarrod heard himself beg. 

Jordan’s leer grew wider. “Please what?” he asked and his hand moved to stroke Jarrod’s cock. 

Jarrod couldn’t explain it. The pain and danger from the gun added to the movement of Jordan’s hand on his swollen cock bypassed his brain, went straight to fuel his most primal urges and all he wanted was release. “Please let me…”

Jordan pulled out the pistol and tossed it aside. “It wasn’t loaded,” he told Jarrod as he replaced it with his own cock. “But seeing you terrified like that just made it so much better.” Jarrod hurt from being fucked by the hard metal, but Jordan’s cock hit him in all the right places. His hips started to move and meet Jordan’s thrusts and the other man chuckled as he pounded into him. 

“Oh, god, harder,” Jarrod moaned. “Please, I need...”

Jordan obliged, driving harder until Jarrod could feel the pulses of the other man’s release. He withdrew, swiped some of the cum leaking out of Jarrod’s ass on his hand and smeared it on Jarrod’s cock before he pulled off the ring. The constriction was gone and Jarrod cried out as he finally released his pent-up fluid. His hips moved involuntarily as the ecstasy coursed through him, but he came crashing down when he heard Jordan’s voice.

“I knew you were a slut, I just didn’t realize how much.”

Jordan’s face was full of glee and Jarrod immediately felt sick. How could he have gotten off on something that twisted and depraved? What kind of man did that make him, that he could derive pleasure from being sodomized with a pistol by a man he loathed? At that moment, Jarrod realized that was what Jordan wanted all along; the man’s face told him everything. He’d been broken to Jordan’s will, becoming his willing slave in truth, and Jarrod knew he was more dirty and disgusting than he’d ever imagined.

Jordan must have seen it and his expression turned into one of wicked delight as he refastened his pants. “Next time you’ll come running for it,” he told Jarrod. “Now go. I’ll send for you when I need you again.” Jordan sat back down at the table and ignored Jarrod completely as he slowly dressed and left the room.

Jarrod was only a few feet from the hotel before he had to turn into a nearby alley and drop to his knees. Not having eaten since lunch, all that came up was bitter bile but it was still several long minutes before he was able to get to his feet and shakily wipe his mouth on his sleeve. He was an abomination, a disgrace to his family and his father’s name and Jarrod didn’t think he could live with what he’d become.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter contains triggers for suicide

Sitting at the desk that he and Nick shared at the ranch, Jarrod signed the note with a trembling hand before folding it and writing his brother’s name on the front. He knew he was compounding one sin with another, but after what happened that last time with Jordan he just couldn’t go on. 

The sick feeling came back as he remembered how he’d actually wanted it. Instead of just enduring like he had over the past four years, Jarrod found himself begging for sexual release as Jordan tormented him. Jordan had brought him to orgasm in the past, but when Jordan used his gun to fuck Jarrod, he became an actual participant and let his base urges take over. He strained for it, he worked for it and when he finally came, it was with a desire and euphoria he hadn’t felt any of the times before.

Everything he was had been corrupted and he realized he couldn’t live with that. He could just walk away, break his agreement with Jordan and prepare for his retaliation. They weren’t in the same situation as they’d been in four years ago when he tried before and Audra was kidnapped; it would still be hard but not impossible to protect them now. But he’d still be the same dirty whore who cried for Jordan to fuck him harder and how could he believe he wouldn’t fall further? If he was that depraved, who was to say he wouldn’t ultimately become like Jordan himself?

Jarrod strapped on his gunbelt, left the house and saddled his horse. Mounting, only one destination came to mind and Jarrod turned the sorrel’s nose in the direction of the lake he’d named Isla de Cielo long ago.

*

“Mail!” Nick yelled as he closed the door. Victoria came down the stairs and gave him a disapproving look.

“Must you, Nick?” 

Nick shrugged. “It’s a big house,” he said cheekily and handed her an envelope. “Where’s Jarrod? I got a few things here for him too.”

“He rode off a few minutes ago.” Victoria sighed. “I’m worried about him, Nick. He just hasn’t been himself lately and he’s working himself too hard. He needs to take some time off, but every time I suggest it…” She shook her head.

Nick draped an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t I take him fishing?” he suggested. It wasn’t lost on him either that Jarrod seemed even more worn and tired than usual when he came back from San Francisco the last time. “It’s been too long since just the two of us went off together for a weekend.”

“Nick, that’s a wonderful idea.” Victoria smiled in relief. “I think that’ll do wonders for both of you. You’ve both been working too hard.”

Nick gestured with the letters. “I’ll just put these on the desk, put some supplies together and go find him. Don’t worry if we’re not back for a few days.”

“Thank you, Nick.”

Nick dropped Jarrod’s mail on the desk and took a brief look through the papers on it in case there was something that needed his attention before he took off for a few days with his brother. His eyes caught a folded piece of paper with his name written on top in Jarrod’s hand. Leaning back on the desk, he unfolded it and scanned the contents.

_Nick,_

_I won’t be able to protect the family from Hannibal Jordan any longer so you need to watch out for him. I don’t know what he’ll do, but you need to be prepared._

_Please tell Mother, Audra and Gene that I love them dearly and I hope you know I’ve always been proud to call you my brother. I hope someday you can forgive me._

_Jarrod_

 

Nick’s hand started shaking as he read it over again. He knew Jarrod had begun drinking and smoking more after their father’s death, spending more and more time away from the ranch and Nick had urged him to take it easy more than once. But with that letter in his hand, he realized Jarrod had been acting even less like himself lately. Nick didn’t think he’d seen his brother without a cigar or a drink in his hand since he returned home a few days ago, that was any time he’d actually seen his brother. They usually spent some time together in the evenings, playing cards or just shooting the breeze, but Jarrod had been retreating to his room right after supper, a supper that Nick suspected Jarrod didn’t eat at all. If he thought about it, Jarrod spent most of the time pushing his food around his plate and Nick had to wonder why no one had noticed.

He hadn’t realized the situation had deteriorated so far and his stomach clenched anxiously. Even though he hadn’t written it outright, Nick knew Jarrod’s note was meant to be final. 

He shook off the paralyzing fear. He had to act and he had to act now if he ever wanted to see his brother alive again.

 _Mother said he didn’t ride out that long ago. Maybe I can catch up with him before…_ Nick refused to think it. With deliberate strides, he went out to the yard and grabbed the reins of the first saddled horse he came to. He didn’t say anything to the men as he spurred the horse out of the yard but it wasn’t long before he stopped. Where the devil was he supposed to look? There were thousands of acres and Nick knew time wasn’t on his side. Racking his brain, he came up with a list of places Jarrod might go and one stood out in particular. Urging the horse in his chosen direction, Nick tried to banish the thought that if he was wrong, it would probably cost him his brother.

 

Jarrod tied Jingo’s reins loosely to the saddlehorn after dismounting so the sorrel could make his way back to the ranch on his own. He walked down the slope and gazed at the pristine water. The lake was so peaceful and so serene, so completely unlike the torment inside him. 

Sitting on a fallen log, Jarrod pulled out his revolver and turned it over in his hand. It could have been different. He could have turned Jordan down when the offer was first made and joined forces with Nick to beat the rail baron back. But instead he’d agreed and became Jordan’s whore, all because of his depraved desires.

He knew his family would be devastated by his death, but it would be far, far worse on them if they found out what kind of man he really was. He’d worked to protect them from Jordan, now he had to protect them from himself.

Jarrod’s hand shook as he pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple. All he had to do was pull the trigger and the pain would be gone. He tightened his grip slowly, but just before he squeezed it hard enough, his hand collapsed to his knees. Could he really let one of his family, Nick most likely, find him with part of his head blown off and his brains splattered on the ground? That would be even more cruel than just finding his lifeless body.

So instead, Jarrod pulled out the knife he always kept in his boot in case of emergencies. That way they’d be able to hide the true cause of his death and let everyone believe it was an accident rather than suicide so his actions wouldn’t hurt them any further. Pushing up his sleeves, he held the sharp blade to his wrist, took a deep breath and sliced into the flesh with one smooth stroke before gripping the knife with his injured hand and doing the same to the other side. It hurt, but it was a better hurt than what he’d endured at Jordan’s hands and his own. He watched the bright red blood spill onto the ground and finally let the tears stream down his face. _I’m sorry,_ he told his family silently when the world started to spin as his life drained away, _I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I’m sorry._

 

Nick saw the flash of silver as the knife tumbled from Jarrod’s hand and his body slumped to the ground. Vaulting out of the saddle, his feet hitting the ground at a run, he refused to think that he might be too late.

The amount of blood pooling around Jarrod was appalling, but Nick could hear the faint wheezing of breath. “Hold on, big brother,” he muttered, tearing the bandana off his neck and tightly wrapping Jarrod’s left wrist. He recovered the fallen knife and cut off the sleeve off Jarrod’s shirt to bind the other side. He sliced the shirt into more strips and wound them securely around Jarrod’s arms until he ran out of fabric.

“Why Jarrod?” he asked while he worked to save his brother’s life. “What was so bad that you couldn’t talk to me?” Because that was what hurt the most, more than Jarrod being driven to the point of wanting to take his own life. Anyone could reach rock bottom, but Nick had always believed there was nothing so bad that he and his brother couldn’t talk about it. He’d obviously failed Jarrod somehow and could only pray that he’d have the chance to fix it, whatever it was.

Finally satisfied that he’d staunched the bleeding, Nick hoisted Jarrod over his shoulder, carried him up the hill and slung him across Jingo’s saddle, thankful the faithful sorrel hadn’t wandered away. The horse snorted uneasily, but didn’t move while Nick made sure Jarrod was stable. Fighting the urge to spur his horse into fast gallop, Nick kept it to a slow walk so Jarrod wasn’t jostled too much. There was a line shack not too far away, but the minutes seemed like hours and Nick sagged in relief when the wooden structure came into view. He managed to get Jarrod inside and on the small cot, then went to the well for some cold water. He knew Jarrod’s wounds needed stitches, but he was loath to go after the doctor and have anyone else know what Jarrod tried to do. He’d done his share of field surgery in the war; there had to be a mending kit around somewhere and Nick rummaged through the shelves until he found it, a roll of bandages and a bottle of whiskey. 

“Sorry, Jarrod,” he said as he carefully unwrapped one wrist, “it might not be pretty, but I’ll do my best.” The wound was still bleeding sluggishly as Nick cleaned it with water and the whiskey and he knew he had to work fast; Jarrod couldn’t afford to lose much more blood. He quickly stitched up the gash as neatly as he could, dosed it liberally with more alcohol and bound it tightly with the clean bandages before doing the same on the other side. He hoped none of the tendons were damaged as he tucked a blanket tightly around his brother and settled in a chair, praying that Jarrod hadn’t lost too much blood and would wake up soon.

 

Jarrod woke to dizziness and nausea and it took him a few moments to realize why his arms hurt so much. Obviously someone had found him; he’d never thought he could feel worse than when he slit his wrists, but he did. He couldn’t even get something as simple as his own death right. 

“Here, Pappy, drink this.” 

He’d know Nick’s voice anywhere and knew there was no point in trying to argue, so he let his brother lift his head and pour cool water down his throat. He hadn’t realized he was so thirsty until the glass was empty and his head was gently lowered to the pillow.

Jarrod didn’t know what to say to his brother; he didn’t know if there was anything he could say so he just lay there. Not that it was hard to do with him being weak as a newborn kitten. He knew it wouldn’t last long though; Nick was only patient to a point and soon there would come questions that Jarrod knew he’d have to answer if he didn’t want to hurt his brother more than he had already.

But Nick surprised him when all he did was rest a gentle hand on his shoulder and tell him, “Rest, Jarrod. I’ll have some broth ready if want it when you get up.”

“Thanks,” Jarrod whispered. _I don’t deserve a brother like you,_ was his last thought before dropping back to sleep.

 

Jarrod slept for almost sixteen hours, waking only briefly several times for a drink of water. Nick used some of the dried jerky stored in the line shack to make a broth to help Jarrod regain his strength, all the time keeping a close eye on his brother. He also collected all the sharp objects he could find, feeling a bit guilty as he did so, and placed them, along with his and Jarrod’s revolvers, in a tied bag on the corner of a high shelf. There was no point in tempting fate, after all; he had no idea what Jarrod’s state of mind might be when he fully woke.

A low groan drew Nick back to the bed. Jarrod was trying to sit and Nick wrapped an arm around him to give him some support. “Here,” he said as he tucked some extra blankets to prop Jarrod up, “let me help.”

Jarrod only nodded and let Nick tuck the blankets around him securely to help him stay upright. Questions were clambering to be asked, but Nick knew now wasn’t the time. He was glad their mother thought they were off fishing; they had a few days before anyone would even think to come looking for them and hopefully they could work everything out by then. So instead of demanding answers, he went to the stove and spooned out a bowl of hot broth. “Here, Jarrod, you need this.” He didn’t even get the expected protest when he started feeding it to Jarrod and knew he was going to need all his tact and patience to help his brother.

Jarrod made a small face. “That’s awful, Nick,” he protested weakly, but continued letting Nick feed him.

“I may be a lot of things, but a gourmet chef isn’t one of them. I leave that to Silas.” It made Nick happy to see the smile at the corner of Jarrod’s mouth. “I’m sure there’s rabbits around. I’ll set up a couple snares when you’re up to some roast hare.”

The bowl was empty quickly. “Want some more?” Nick asked and Jarrod shook his head.

“Maybe later.”

Nick set the bowl on the table and sat back in the chair beside the bed. “Jarrod, whatever it is you can tell me. I just wish you would’ve confided in before you…” His voice broke and he swiped the tears off his face. “Dammit, Jarrod, why didn’t you let me help you before you got to this point?” he snapped and immediately regretted it when Jarrod cringed at the angry words.

“I’m sorry, Nick.” Jarrod wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You should have just left me.”

Taking a deep breath to settle himself, Nick told him firmly, “You’re my brother, Jarrod. I’ll never leave you, no matter what.” He reached out to gently grab Jarrod’s arm. “I get that you don’t want to talk right now, but I’ll be here when you do.” The emotion threatened to overwhelm him and Nick turned away, not wanting Jarrod to see any more tears. His brother didn’t need that on his conscience as well.

“I sold myself to Jordan, Nick. Four years ago, after Father died.”

Nick turned slowly, shocked at what he was hearing. 

Jarrod was looking down at his bandaged arms. “He made me a deal. Become his lover and he’d make the threat to the valley and our family go away.”

Nick couldn’t say anything. Out of all the things that Jarrod could have said, that was something he would have never even begun to consider.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Jarrod went on, “so I made the deal. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been with men before. I’ve let him do things to me…” Jarrod shuddered and closed his eyes tightly.

Instead of feeling the disgust he thought he would, Nick’s heart went out to his wounded brother. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of guilt and shame Jarrod had been carrying around for the past few years. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Jarrod and tell him it didn’t matter, but wasn’t sure how his brother would react. But Jarrod’s next words took the choice out of his hands.

“You’re probably wishing you would have left me there to die,” Jarrod choked out in a whisper.

Nick sat down on the cot and pulled Jarrod into his arms. Jarrod stiffened but Nick didn’t let go. “I told you, Jarrod, I’ll never leave you. You obviously did what you thought you had to and…” This time it was his voice that choked. “I love you, Jarrod. I’m sorry you felt you had to do that and that you didn’t think you could trust me with it.”

Jarrod finally broke and Nick held him tightly as sobs wracked his body. “I’m sorry, Nick, I’m…”

“Shh,” Nick told him. “You need to rest. We’ll have lots of time to talk.”

Jarrod nodded and Nick helped him get settled again. “Just sleep, Jarrod. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”


	8. Chapter 8

Jarrod felt a bit better when he woke up, but the bright sunshine and the sounds of birds from outside made the darkness in his mind seem that much heavier. Having Nick’s acceptance meant the world to him, but that didn’t change the things he’d done and allowed to be done to him. But somehow, there was a glimmer of hope. He hadn’t died; he’d been given a second chance and he’d be committing a greater wrong to squander it. Jarrod didn’t know how, but he swore to himself that he’d do what he could to atone for his sins.

Hearing a raucous noise close by, he smiled when he saw Nick fast asleep in the chair by the bed, his feet on the mattress and his head tipped back. Nick didn’t usually snore, but in that awkward position, he probably couldn’t help it. He was bound to be sore when he woke as well and Jarrod knew he owed it to his brother to go on, no matter how painful that might be.

“Hey, Nick,” he said softly. Nick gave a snort and woke up, blinking.

“Hey, Jarrod, how’re you feeling?”

“A bit better.” He was able to push himself up without getting too dizzy.

Nick stretched, grimaced and rubbed his neck. “Got to get more comfortable chairs out here,” he groused and Jarrod chuckled in spite of himself. “That’s a good noise to hear,” Nick told him softly. “Haven’t heard enough of it lately.” He reached over to grab Jarrod’s hand. “But enough of that for now. I’m gonna step outside and see if we get something other than jerky soup for breakfast.” Jarrod wrinkled his nose and smiled when Nick laughed. Then his expression got serious. “You stay put,” Nick ordered with a jab of his finger before he went outside.

Jarrod leaned his head back with a sigh. Nick was doing a good job of hiding his disappointment but Jarrod didn’t believe that his brother could be anything other than severely disappointed in him. If Nick could put on a good face for him, he couldn’t do anything less.

It wasn’t long before Nick came back empty handed. “Nothing,” he complained. “I hate to ask this, but if you’re up to it, why don’t we head up to Snider’s Creek? At least there’s fish and we can take the gear that’s here.” Nick looked at him hopefully. “The weather should be good.”

Even if he’d been so inclined, Jarrod wasn’t going to argue. Whatever Nick wanted he was going to get. “I should be fine, Nick.” Jarrod winced as he pushed himself to his feet and was lucky Nick had quick reflexes when he almost fell over.

“Yeah, right,” Nick said, hanging onto Jarrod as he waited for the dizziness to pass. “You’re gonna have to ride double with me.”

“I’m causing you nothing but trouble, aren’t I?” Jarrod said quietly.

“You’d better believe it,” Nick shot back and then he added, “But you’re worth every bit of it, Jarrod. C’mon, sit back down while I get the gear together.”

Jarrod did as he was told. Nick tossed him a shirt he found and Jarrod fumbled the buttons closed while he watched Nick gather up blankets, groundsheet, canteens and anything else he thought might be useful. Fishing wasn’t going to be much fun with just hook and line, but then again, this wasn’t going to be for pleasure. But he did raise an eyebrow when Nick tucked the two bottles of whiskey he found into the bedroll. 

Nick noticed. “I don’t know about you, but reckon I’m gonna need a few before all’s said and done. I’m just gonna saddle up and then I’ll give you a hand.”

When Nick came back in, he helped Jarrod to his feet. “Sorry about the shirt,” he apologized when he noticed how badly the one he found fit.

“Don’t worry about it.” If Jarrod guessed right, Nick tearing up his shirt had likely saved his life. 

It took all of his strength and not a little from Nick to get on the horse and he was grateful for the steadying arm around his waist as they started moving, Jingo trailing behind. Having Nick’s support, the easy gait of the horse and the stillness of the day worked together to lull Jarrod into a restful doze. He almost didn’t believe they were at the creek when Nick pulled the horse to a stop and announced, “We’re here.”

Jarrod waved Nick’s hand away after sliding to the ground and even though he was a little unsteady, he made his way to the ring of stones they used as a fire pit. There was still ample wood around and Jarrod decided he should make himself useful. “If you leave the gear, I’ll set up camp while you get us some fish,” he offered. Nick eyed him warily and Jarrod knew he was worried. “I’ll be fine, Nick,” he promised. “I won’t do anything… stupid.” The worry on Nick’s face lessened but didn’t go away entirely. “If I need help, I’ll yell.”

Nick hesitated another moment before giving in. “All right,” but it wasn’t lost on Jarrod that Nick made sure he had both of their firearms and took a bundle with him that Jarrod thought was where Nick placed the knives he took from the line shack. Nick was right; there was no reason to trust him. He would have to earn it back and even though he was still weak and his arms hurt like the devil, Jarrod soon had their gear unpacked, a tidy blaze going in the firepit and started a pot of coffee with the water in the canteen.

“Jarrod, you didn’t have to do all that,” Nick scolded when he returned with half a dozen cleaned fish. 

Jarrod just shrugged. “Might as well earn my keep.”

Nick grabbed the frypan and squatted down by the fire. “You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone,” he said as he laid out the fish in the pan, “especially to me. You’ve always had my back, I’m just repaying the favour.”

The fish started sizzling and soon they were eating and drinking the hot coffee. Jarrod found that he was actually hungry and it didn’t take him long to clean his plate. But once Nick returned from washing the dishes, he knew he wouldn’t be able to put off the hard questions and harder answers any longer.

But before he said anything, Nick poured a generous amount of whiskey in both cups and handed one to Jarrod. “And don’t tell me it’s too early,” he scolded. “I’ve seen you hit the scotch a lot earlier than this.”

Jarrod didn’t have anything to say to that. He knew he’d been using alcohol to numb the pain and guilt and wasn’t surprised that Nick noticed. Swirling the liquid in his cup a few times, he tossed back the contents in one gulp.

Nick refilled his cup. “Be careful. It’s gonna hit you a lot harder with all the blood you lost.”

“Well, maybe then I can forget,” Jarrod replied heavily. “At least for a little while.”

Nick stared at his own drink for a moment before draining it. “Reckon you got a point,” he said as he poured more whiskey. “So do you want to talk or should we just get stinking drunk?”

He didn’t really want to talk, but Nick already knew and Jarrod owed him a complete explanation. “No reason we can’t do both.”

“Works for me.”

They both sipped their whiskey and were silent for a long while.

Nick spoke up first. “So you’d rather be with a man that a woman?”

Jarrod gave a cynical snort, but at least his brother had started with something relatively easy. “Nick, I don’t even know any more. When I was in the war…” He paused, not sure how to continue but Nick did for him.

“Yeah, I know. There were a couple tentmates in my unit who… enjoyed each other’s company.” Nick shrugged. “Couldn’t blame them. You took what comfort you could.”

Jarrod nodded, emptied his cup and held it out. Nick obliged and he took another sip. His brother was right; Jarrod already felt a mild buzz and knew if he kept drinking, he was probably going to pass out and wake up with a nasty hangover. But the alcohol was making it easier to talk and he figured it would be a small price to pay if he was able to get things off his chest.

“It was more than simple comfort, Nick.” He took another drink. “Father took me to a brothel in San Francisco not long before I signed up. I couldn’t admit to myself then that I would’ve rather had the doorman take me to bed than the woman Father arranged for, but all it took was for my tentmate to grope me one night after having a little too much corn.” Jarrod couldn’t believe he was really having this conversation with Nick and that Nick wasn’t beating him to a pulp. But one look at his brother only revealed patience and caring.

“I can’t say I understand, Jarrod, but it’s the same as me not understanding why you’d want to work in an office rather than out on the range. Reckon it’s who you are.” Nick raised his cup in a toast. “And you’re a damn fine brother.”

Jarrod smiled a little at that and joined Nick in the toast. “And I don’t deserve a brother like you,” he added as Nick poured more whiskey to the cups.

Nick’s eyes got a devilish gleam. “Should I keep my ears open in case we hire anyone who has the same preferences?”

Jarrod spluttered and almost choked. Nick playing matchmaker was not something he expected and he started to get annoyed. Did Nick really think setting him up with another man would make it all go away? “I don’t know, Nick. Right now I don’t ever want to have sex with anyone again.”

They drank in silence for a few more minutes. Jarrod tried to settle his simmering temper, but even though he knew Nick was trying, there was no way anyone could ever understand what happened or his fear that he might be as despicable a creature as Hannibal Jordan.

“Must’ve been rough to make you feel that way,” Nick finally said.

“Rough?” Jarrod snapped angrily. Yes, Nick was only being sympathetic, but the whiskey added to the strain of the situation made his temper boil over. “You call a cock shoved down my throat until I passed out rough? How about being tied up and raped by at least five of Jordan’s ‘associates’ one after another? And you know what, Nick? I started to like it! I’m just like him and you have no fucking clue!” The distressed look on Nick’s face made him immediately regret his outburst. “Sorry, Nick,” he apologized softly. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

Nick looked at him ruefully. “But you’re right, I don’t have a clue.”

Jarrod just shook his head and stared into his cup. “That’s the worst of it, y’know. That I started to like it. That’s why I…” He held up his bandaged arms. “I didn’t want the family to see me turn into a man like Jordan.”

“Jarrod, you’ll never be like Jordan,” Nick insisted. “Would a selfish bastard like that sacrifice himself to protect his family? I don’t think so.” He reached out and placed a hand on Jarrod’s arm. “You’re a good man, Jarrod, the best. You just need to stop being so stubborn and ask for help sometimes.”

Jarrod snorted. “That’s calling the kettle black, isn’t it?”

“Reckon you’re right again,” Nick said, chuckling. His face grew more serious. “I can’t understand why you didn’t call a stop to it though. Once everything settled down and we got a handle on everything after Father died.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Jarrod answered, “Remember when Audra was kidnapped? I tried to arrange for everyone to be protected, told Jordan I was done and he managed to get to her anyhow.”

Nick was silent and Jarrod wished he could help his brother understand, but he was also glad Nick never really could.

He was relieved when Nick changed the subject by taking his arm. “Don’t think you’re feeling much pain right now, big brother. How about I take a look, make sure everything looks okay?”

“Might as well.” Jarrod drained his cup again, set it down and stretched out his arms. “Do what you need to.” He winced when Nick uncovered the inflamed skin. “I’m sorry, Nick.”

“Just talk to me next time you get that low, okay?” Nick grabbed the canteen and washed Jarrod’s arms. “Sorry about the stitches.”

“You did good.” Jarrod didn’t think they were any worse than any other time he’d been stitched up and he was glad Nick took care of him rather than anyone else knowing. “Thanks for doing this for me, Nick.”

“Anytime, Jarrod, just don’t make me do it again.”

“You have my word.” 

Nick bandaged his arms again and sat back. “So now what?”

The whiskey was really starting to hit him. Jarrod knew he should have an idea what Nick was talking about, but he couldn’t quite focus. “Now what what?” He could swear Nick was amused.

“Well, you were worried about Jordan’s reaction once you were gone,” Nick explained. “Reckon I just want to know if you’re planning to keep seeing him, if you’re gonna call the whole thing off or if I should just go beat him to a bloody pulp before I shoot him.”

That brought some clarity back to Jarrod’s thoughts. He hadn’t thought about it; he’d just thought he would be dead and not have to worry about Jordan any more. Jarrod winced. He’d tried to take the coward’s way out and leave everything for Nick to deal with, not something that a man professing to love his family did. And there was no way he’d let Nick face a murder charge just to protect his supposed honour. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep up my end of the deal,” he said, his gut clenching at the thought of Jordan viciously fucking him god only knew how with no end in sight. 

“Jarrod, that’s not what I meant,” Nick snapped. “I meant what are we going to do stop that bastard? If you want to go back to his bed that’s your choice, but if you want to fight him, he doesn’t stand a chance with the two of us standing together.”

Jarrod’s head was spinning, partially from the relief of knowing Nick had his back and partially from all the whiskey he’d consumed. “Nick…” The world was starting to spin and he almost fell over when he missed the log he was sitting on, trying to support himself.

“Reckon you’ve had enough, Pappy.” Nick’s voice seemed far away. Gentle hands grabbed him and steered him over to their blankets. “I don’t envy your headache when you wake up.”

Jarrod wasn’t looking forward to it either, but as blackness overtook him, he was just grateful to be lying down and doubly grateful that he was able to call a man like Nick Barkley his brother.


	9. Chapter 9

Nick strode into Jarrod’s law office. “Hey, Pappy, how about lunch?”

Jarrod tried to mask his anxiety before Nick saw it, but he wasn’t successful. Tossing his hat on Jarrod’s desk, Nick perched on the edge. “What’s the problem?”

Sighing, Jarrod handed over the telegram that had been delivered almost an hour ago. Almost an hour and he hadn’t been able to put it down or throw it away. Even with all their preparations, they weren’t ready and he dreaded what he knew what he had to do. 

Nick unfolded it, perused it quickly and his mouth set into a frown. “Jordan?” At Jarrod’s nod, he crumpled the paper and tossed it into the wastebasket. “Why didn’t you throw it out yourself?”

Jarrod sank his head into his hands. “I have to go to him, Nick. We’re not even near to being ready to stand up to him if he tries another land grab.”

Nick got to his feet, planted his hands on the desk and leaned over to get in Jarrod’s face. “Jarrod, you’ve already got five congressmen and two senators on board. All the T’s might not be crossed yet, but that’s enough to get in Jordan’s way. We’ve hired extra men we trust and all of them are on alert for any trouble. All we have to do is tell Mother that there’ve been rumours about trouble from the railroad and we’ll get Gene and Audra to Uncle Jim like we planned before that snake knows what’s going on. You don’t got to do anything.”

Could it really be that easy? Jarrod felt even more shame at how he’d given in to Jordan’s demands in the first place. He should have trusted that he and Nick were strong enough to fight Jordan off if they stood together, inexperienced though they were after their father’s death. “I suppose you’re right.” He was grateful for Nick’s unwavering support and tried to smile. “C’mon, let’s grab some lunch.”

Nick snagged his hat and set it firmly on his head. “It’s about time. I’m starving.”

That made Jarrod chuckle as he retrieved his own hat, but then he had another sobering thought. “Nick, before we go, you have to promise me something.”

“What?” Nick asked, puzzled.

Jarrod took a deep breath. He’d been considering it since the ride home from Snider’s Creek, but there hadn’t been an opportunity to bring it up until now. “I don’t know how Jordan will react. I’m not really worried about what he might do to me, but…” He looked at Nick gravely. “I wouldn’t put it past him to have evidence; witnesses who don’t care, maybe even a photograph. He might try to expose me, Nick, and you know what happens to… sodomites.” He said the last barely above a whisper.

Nick grasped Jarrod’s arm. “Jarrod, you know I’ll back you in whatever you need. I…”

Jarrod cut him off. “That’s just what you can’t do, Nick. If something like that gets out, it won’t only hurt me, it’ll hurt the whole family, the ranch, the businesses, even the farmers.” He shook his head. “If that happens, you have to wash your hands of me and help get Mother to do the same. Cast me out, turn your back and never take a second glance.”

“Jarrod, I could never…” Nick’s face was full of outrage.

“You have to, Nick!” Jarrod practically yelled. He didn’t want to be left alone, to face the disgrace, prison and a possible death sentence, but… “If you don’t, what the devil has any of this been for? I know I was wrong accepting Jordan’s deal in the first place, but dammit, Nick…!”

Reluctantly, Nick nodded. “Yeah, I see your point. But Jarrod…” Nick pulled him into a fierce hug. “Never forget how proud I am to call you brother, even if…” Nick’s voice broke and Jarrod couldn’t fight down tears. “Even if I never get to say it again.”

“Me too, Nick,” Jarrod managed to choke out. They stayed that way until both men regained their composure and pulled apart. “I’ll head to San Francisco after lunch and… let Jordan know.”

“Over my dead body.” 

Jarrod raised an eyebrow at Nick’s grim expression.

“Jarrod, you said yourself you don’t what he’ll do,” Nick went on. “That bastard doesn’t even deserve a reply, let alone in person, but if that’s what you feel you have to do, there’s no way I’m gonna let you face him alone.”

As much as Nick’s offer meant to him, Jarrod couldn’t put his brother in the line of Jordan’s fire any more than he already was by just being a Barkley. And if he did go to Jordan and something did happen, he knew Nick would never forgive himself. “You’ve got a point, Nick. But instead of going for lunch, let’s head home. I’ll feel better if we alert everyone that Jordan might be gunning for us before he knows about my refusal.”

Nick nodded. “C’mon. The sooner we get home, the sooner we can eat.” He grinned and Jarrod appreciated how he was trying to lighten the mood. But Jordan wouldn’t give up easily and that knowledge sat heavily on his mind all the way home.

 

Jarrod shifted quietly as he eased a cramp in his shoulder. Some of the hands reported hearing a couple strangers making inquiries and a bit of discreet checking linked those men to an associate of Hannibal Jordan’s. So after discussing the situation with their mother, Jarrod and Nick came up with a plan to set up a situation where they had at least some control. Audra and Gene were safely with their Uncle Jim and they were fairly certain it had been done quickly and quietly enough that Jordan hadn’t realized. Jim was aware of the situation as well, so they knew their youngest siblings would be well guarded.

They made a point of making plans in public for Jarrod to join Nick for a few days with most of the hands on roundup, with a mention that their mother would home alone while they were gone. So after leaving with the crew, the brothers and a couple other men split off, took roundabout ways back to the house and settled in to wait.

Jarrod heard a faint rustle behind him and instinctively knew it was Nick.

“Jake just told me those two men left their horses not far away and are making their way here on foot,” he muttered in Jarrod’s ear. 

Jarrod nodded. He took a glance to the parlour doors where a lone lamp was lit and the shadows suggested that their mother was reading a book by the fire. Suggestion only, since Victoria Barkley was sitting there, not with a book, but with a shotgun across her lap and a pistol by her hand. They hadn’t even tried to dissuade her; she was an expert shot and her sons knew they wouldn’t be able to get her to sit back and let others take risks for her. 

The crunch of gravel put both men back on alert. Jordan’s men were good, Jarrod had to admit as he saw the darker shadows slip closer to the house, but not good enough. He heard the click as Nick readied his pistol and Jarrod quietly pulled his own.

A hand reached for the door latch and Nick’s voice suddenly boomed out. “Hold it right there.”

The figure spun and Jarrod recognized the half-lit face. They had decided earlier that at least one of the would-be kidnappers or assassins should be left alive to report back to their master, but the memory of that same face leering at him before his cock was shoved down Jarrod’s throat drove that consideration from his mind. His aim was true and the man fell back, a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead. He didn’t hesitate to fire a second shot that caught the other man right in the chest and he fell without a sound as well.

“Well, so much for messengers,” he heard Nick say, but it was as if his brother was at the other end of a long tunnel. There was a loud buzzing in his ears, he couldn’t quite focus and he didn’t even notice when his gun fell out of his hand.

“Jarrod?”

The sound of his mother’s voice and the soft touch of her hand on his arm broke through the fog.

“Jarrod, are you all right?”

He suddenly realized he was shaking and tried to give her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Mother,” he said quietly as he reached down to retrieve his pistol and reholstered it. “Just relieved is all.” Glancing over at Nick, he could tell his brother didn’t quite believe him. “I suppose we should send for Harry.”

Nick called to one of the men rushing over. “Jake, head into town and let Sheriff Lyman know we had to shoot a couple intruders.”

The cowboy nodded. “Will do, boss.”

“Cody, make sure these bodies aren’t disturbed,” Nick told the other man. “Jarrod and I are gonna take our mother inside.”

“You got it, boss.”

Nick poured them all drinks while they waited. Jarrod was glad no one seemed inclined to talk, although Nick paced restlessly around the room and his mother kept giving him concerned glances.

Well, he was concerned too. If he’d been asked earlier in the day, Jarrod would have said he didn’t believe in violence as a form of revenge, but that night’s events proved otherwise. He had enough time to aim and only injure, but he’d deliberately chosen to kill both men because of things that had been done to him. 

At that moment, he made a choice. Maybe he did have some of the ruthlessness that defined Hannibal Jordan, but he didn’t have to let it define him and vowed to himself that he wouldn’t let it happen again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up in the middle of the series' pilot, 'Palms of Glory'.

“Coffee, Jarrod?”

Jarrod looked up from where he was leaning against the porch rail.. Nettie Sample was holding a large pot and several tin cups. He nodded. “Thanks, Nettie.” He took a sip of the hot brew as she walked down to the next man.

Six years and it had still come to this. Four years of buying Jordan off with his body, two years of legal wrangling and they were back to settling things with violence and guns. Even Nick, who’d stood behind him through some of the darkest days of his life, didn’t have his back this time. There was no way he could forget his brother’s hostility of the previous day when he suggested injunctive procedures instead of meeting them gun for gun and the tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Gene walked by and barely gave Jarrod a glance. No one was with him, Jarrod thought glumly. When Frank tore up the railroad’s ultimatum after the fire at Swenson’s and threw it down in despair, his brothers had been the first to stand behind their friend and neighbour. Their glares came back to haunt him, as well as the disbelief in his mother’s eyes when he hesitated in joining them. It was at that moment he knew that no matter what he did, it was going to end in more deaths. All his work to settle things without bloodshed, selling his self-respect to keep that from happening; it had all been for nothing and was going to end again with good men being killed because no one was willing to sit down and come to a reasonable solution.

Jarrod sighed. If he had a choice, he’d be almost anywhere but there. Almost. What went on in that seedy hotel in San Francisco still haunted his dreams and he often woke in a cold sweat from the imagined feeling of Jordan’s cock being shoved down his throat or the pain of being repeatedly raped. He’d done everything he could to avoid meeting the rail baron in his fight to stop the land grab and he’d mostly succeeded. The only contact they’d had was across a meeting table with a dozen other men and even that was too close to be comfortable.

Hearing the click of rifle stocks being checked, Jarrod had to wonder, though, if he’d done the right thing by putting an end to his deal with Jordan. But he knew he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if it continued and with all that happened, Jordan would have likely only moved quicker once he was dead.

But right or wrong, choices had been made by all of them and couldn’t be taken back. Jarrod tossed the remains of his coffee onto the dirt, set down his cup, and walked over to join the rest of the men gathered to stand against the Coastal and Western Railroad and Hannibal Jordan.

As he came around the corner of Sample’s porch, Jarrod heard Nick telling the story about the cougar he’d hunted last month. 

“I tried to run for cover,” Nick told his rapt audience, gesturing for emphasis, “but these claws were ripping right into my back and the teeth were hitting my neck. I've been up against some cats before...”

“How’d you get out?” one of the men asked.

“Her husband came home.” 

Nick crossed his arms, huffed and gave Jarrod a dirty look. Jarrod instantly regretted his attempt to lighten the mood, but didn’t show it as he leaned against the post. It was grim business they were up to that morning and it wouldn’t do any good to dwell on their private feud.

“What time is it?”

Jarrod took out his watch and checked. “Ten minutes to eight."

Nick slouched more heavily against the rail and smacked his black-gloved hands together impatiently. Jarrod just stared off in the direction Hannibal Jordan’s hired guns would be coming from. Just over an hour and the courthouse would be open. If the railroad’s men would only wait sixty minutes, certain bloodshed might be avoided, but Jarrod had little hope that would happen. 

“Jarrod. Nick.” 

He and Nick both turned and looked in the same direction as Frank Sample to see men on horseback coming their way. Nick jumped over the rail to stand in front of the porch before restlessly going back to stand beside Jarrod. Rifles were readied as nearly thirty men rode in to the yard, pulled their horses to a halt and watched the defenders. No one said a word.

Sheriff Lyman dismounted and took several steps towards them before Frank’s words of, “That’s far enough, Harry,” stopped him. Rifle in both hands, Frank slowly walked off the porch. They stared silently at each other for a moment.

Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out and unfolded a piece of paper. “ ‘At 8:00 a.m., by order of the governor of the state of California’...”

“We know what it says, Harry.” No one else thought a piece of paper could change anything, not an injunction, not a bill passed by the people’s elected representatives and not the men assembled that morning. Jarrod wondered bitterly why the sheriff even bothered to read it.

But Harry kept reading. “ ‘And the power vested in me as sheriff of this county’...”

“We know what it says,” Nick repeated belligerently.

Harry folded the paper, regret in his eyes and turned at the sound of more hoofbeats. Everyone else turned with him and Jarrod exchanged a glance with Nick when he recognized the rider.

It was the blond cowboy, Heath, who’d confronted them in the library the night before, brandishing a broken bottle and claiming to be their father’s bastard. It was just another bone of contention between he and Nick. Yes, he’d tried to buy the man off, but Heath had refused the money and walked out, only pausing to give them a cocky wave. That only cemented the belief started in Jarrod’s mind when the blond told them about his mother. As soon as he said “Strawberry”, Jarrod knew. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, that was why he offered Heath money in the hope he’d take it and go away, but the place and time fit too well, not to mention that Heath looked remarkably like their father if one stopped to think about it.

When Heath left, Jarrod told his brothers he believed the story. Gene had been willing to listen, but it would have come to blows between he and Nick if one of the hands hadn’t interrupted with news of the fire at Swenson’s. 

Jarrod watched his probably half-brother vault off his horse, grab his rifle and come up on the porch to stand behind he and Nick, only paying partial attention to the conversation between Harry and Frank. Surely Heath’s arrival at a fight not his, on the side of their friends and neighbours, would prove something to his hot-tempered brother and ease at least some of the tension between them.

Then Jarrod heard his name and turned his full attention to Harry. He watched as one of the men looked at his watch and held up a finger. One minute. One minute to eight, one minute to avoid the almost inevitable bloodshed. 

“You have no way!” the sheriff tried again. “Jarrod, tell them!”

“Get out of this, Harry,” Nick warned. 

“You men are asking to be killed!” It was as if Lyman was talking to a stone wall. “You're fighting for something you haven't a chance of winning!”

Jarrod took his last chance at solving things peacefully. “The courthouse opens at 9:00. Will you wait?” He knew it was in vain as guns were loosened from holsters and rifles were readied and reluctantly removed the safety loop from his own pistol.

Without warning, the leader drew his pistol, shot Sample dead in the chest and the unfortunate farmer flew backwards to lie unmoving in the dirt. 

Nick jumped over the porch rail and pulled his gun, firing as bullets started flying in all directions. Harry Lyman moved in a circle, as if still trying to find a way to stop the altercation. Jarrod watched in horror as a stray bullet felled his friend and fellow upholder of justice. He looked up in time to see a man shoot from the barn loft and kill the leader of the gunmen and finally pulled his own gun to pick several men off their horses. Pain ripped through his arm and Jarrod fell back, clutching at the gunshot wound. He saw Eugene come off the porch, crouch down and cover him until he regained his composure. Sparing a moment to say a silent prayer for Gene’s safety, he ignored the pain as he resumed shooting. He and Nick had argued with their brother, telling him he should stay home to protect their mother and sister, but Gene saw through them and reminded them that they hadn’t been any older when they joined up to fight in the war. Jarrod hoped he’d get a chance to tell Eugene how proud he was of the younger man’s composure under fire and hopefully mend their relationship when everything was over.

The attackers dropped from their horses one by one and slowly their comrades turned to run, picking up unhorsed men and hightailing it back the way they’d come. Jarrod sat back on the step, weary in mind and body, as Nick and a few of the others sent the last shots after the fleeing men. He couldn’t help but wonder what Hannibal Jordan’s reaction would be to the morning’s events but he didn’t really want to know. He’d head into town as soon as they took care of the dead and wounded, file the injunction and finally hope for an end. Jarrod knew too well how ruthless their adversary was, but he wasn’t stupid. It was a smart man who knew when to lay down his cards and he hoped Jordan would see that the deck was stacked against him.

He got to his feet when Nick came over and let him look at his bloody sleeve without complaint. It was starting to hurt like the devil, but he was under no illusion that the simple gesture did anything to heal the disagreement between them.

Looking around at the carnage, Jarrod noticed a solitary figure sitting at the edge of the yard. Heath’s hands were shaking as he tried to roll himself a cigarette and Jarrod couldn’t stop himself from going over. He said a silent prayer of thanks that his brothers were still alive, the ones he’d known since birth and the one he’d only discovered last night. There’d probably be hell to pay from Nick later, but at that moment, Jarrod didn’t care. Maybe he could start to repair his relationship with at least one of his brothers.

He held a cigar out to Heath, what he should have offered in the library last night instead of a payout. Heath took it without a word, bit the end off and spat it out. The look they exchanged spoke volumes and in spite of the sorrow of what just happened, Jarrod knew his overture had been accepted as well. They were in for a rocky time, in his family as well as the Valley, but Jarrod had hope they’d all come out stronger in the end.


	11. Chapter 11

A stab of pain brought Jarrod instantly awake and he quickly rolled off his injured arm. Taking a moment for the pain to subside, he breathed a heartfelt prayer of thanks that his gunshot wound was the only injury he or his brothers sustained in the previous day’s shootout with the railroad. The only physical injury anyway, he told himself wryly. The later firefight in the library was just as volatile as the one at Sample’s, but at least that one didn’t involve bullets. Jarrod winced at the increased throbbing in his arm when he sat up. Not that Nick wasn’t wishing for a loaded firearm throughout the discussion, but since the rest of the family accepted the blond cowboy as Tom Barkley’s son, Nick had no choice but to eventually go along.

Sighing, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and started to get ready for the day. Nick hadn’t gone quietly and from the glares his brother directed his way last night, Jarrod reckoned he would be the target of Nick’s wrath for the next while for making the first overture towards Heath after the gunfight. Not that he could have done anything else. He knew Tom Barkley hadn’t been a faithful husband and he remembered that time twenty-four years ago. Nick had likely been too young to remember his mother’s tears when their father didn’t return for many long weeks, but he’d certainly accompanied their father to the brothels on long cattle drives and knew of Tom’s infidelity.

Nick would come around, Jarrod told himself as he eased his arm into the sleeve of his brown jacket, but no one was going to be safe from that temper for a while. Jarrod sighed again. They needed to stand together right now; Crowne wasn’t going to back down, not with Jordan pulling the strings. Nick knew how ruthless the rail baron was, not as well as he did, but he had some idea. At least the message they’d sent almost two years ago managed to hold Jordan off; Jordan hadn’t been able to make good on his threat to harm the family when Jarrod refused to be his whore any longer. He almost wished he could have seen the expression on the older man’s face when he learned of their stand the previous day. Almost, but not really. He had no desire to be in the same room with the man again, even though their paths had and would cross again as Jarrod continued the fight through the courts and the government. 

He adjusted the black sling around his neck and breathed a sigh of relief when the support lessened the ache in his arm. There was a lot to be done, but first he had to survive the battle he knew was coming at breakfast.

 

Jarrod steadfastly ignored the glares from Nick as he listened to his brother’s tirade. Or at least he tried to. Hopefully it was just the Barkley temper that was fuelling the dirty looks, but if his support of Heath had opened an uncrossable rift between them… Jarrod refused to take that thought any further. In spite of their current disagreements, his relationship with his brother was one of the things that kept him sane since their father’s death and if it wasn’t for Nick, he’d be dead right now by his own hand. 

Nick wasn’t a fool; once he got over their father’s betrayal in siring another son, Jarrod had to believe he’d forgive him for his support of Heath. He watched his brother pace to the door and back to the table and hoped Nick would be done soon.

“…just let him come to me just one time with a dry shirt on his back…”

Nick’s rant was cut off when the other object of his ire walked through the door wiping his hands. Heath’s shirt was soaked with sweat and he’d obviously been hard at work already, despite Nick’s insinuations to the contrary.

“I was fixing a fence and I had a patch of mesquite to clear that's just begging for fire,” Heath said to their mother as an explanation for why he was late. Then he turned to Nick with a cocky gleam in his eyes. “And that bridge has got to be fixed before my Modoc breaks a leg which I don't cotton to happen.”

Jarrod caught the grin Eugene shot his way and in spite of everything, he had to smile back at his youngest brother. There was no way the rest of them would have gotten away with showing up at the table without changing and cleaning up first, but from their mother’s amused smile, she was going to let it pass this time.

Heath sat in the chair to Jarrod’s left, tucked his napkin into his shirt and gave the rest of the family a small nod in greeting. He could feel the irritation emanating from Nick as his brother passed behind him to take his own seat and when Nick and Heath stabbed the same steak with their forks at the same time, Jarrod wondered if he was up to breaking apart the inevitable brawl. Well, Gene was there to help, even if he didn’t have the muscle of his older brothers and Jarrod involuntarily tensed in anticipation.

But the tension was broken by a giggle from Audra, even though Nick and Heath continued to glare at each other across the table. Suddenly, their attitudes seemed less like two alpha wolves fighting for control of the pack and more like two banty roosters all puffed up and seeing who could crow the loudest. Jarrod relaxed and knew that if there was going to be peace at the table, it was up to him to be the peacemaker. Looking from one unmoving brother to another, Jarrod picked up his knife and cut the offending piece of meat in half.

Somehow, that simple act triggered something. Heath grinned slightly, Nick started to chuckle and Jarrod breathed a sigh of relief as their mother said grace. 

The rest of the meal continued smoothly as Heath included Gene in the plans to fix the bridge and Jarrod’s heart was lighter when Nick gave him an apologetic look. Jarrod silently acknowledged the apology with a nod and was finally able to set the conflict in his family aside. He didn’t believe that it was completely finished, but presenting a united front was essential if Heath was to be accepted as a Barkley by the rest of the Valley. And the same united front was needed if they were going to win the war against the railroad and not just the most recent battle. Hopefully yesterday’s firefight would sway public opinion in their favour and congress would override the governor’s veto when he took his bill back to the house.

Jarrod shuddered involuntarily. In spite of the fact that there had been no overt threats to the family, their stand at Sample’s was likely to infuriate Jordan beyond what his refusal to continue their deal had and he didn’t even want to speculate what Hannibal Jordan’s state of mind would be after his defeat.

His mother must have seen something on his face. “Jarrod?” she asked, setting down her coffee. “Is everything all right? Is your arm bothering you?”

He couldn’t very well say it wasn’t, not with the way it throbbed in time with his heart, but it was nothing worse than what could be expected after having a bullet lodged there that had to be dug out by the doctor. “It’s manageable, lovely lady,” he told her. “I was just thinking of the amount of work I have in front of me. I wouldn’t be surprised if I need to go to Sacramento and deal with the fallout from yesterday.”

Victoria eyed him sternly. “Don’t overdo it, Jarrod. Remember the doctor said you need to rest that arm.”

“Pappy’ll take any excuse not to get those hands dirty,” Nick scoffed. A knot formed in Jarrod’s stomach at the apparent insult, but when he looked at Nick, he knew his brother was only teasing with the long-standing jibe. Heath also looked momentarily alarmed, but Nick chuckled and their new brother appeared relieved as well.

“That’s why I made sure to get in the way of that bullet, so I won’t have to help burn mesquite,” Jarrod confirmed with a grin, earning him a glare from their mother.

“Jarrod, getting yourself shot is not funny,” she scolded.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, “but you can’t blame me for being happy I’m still here to laugh about it.” He got up, walked around and kissed her on the cheek. “Now I need to get to the office. Gene, make sure you keep these two in line.” He gave Nick and Heath each a pointed look.

Gene grinned cheekily. “You can count on me.”

Jarrod clapped the young man on the shoulder on his way to the door. “Don’t worry if I’m late for supper.” 

“Hey, Jarrod, wait up.”

He paused for Nick to catch up and they walked into the library together. Nick leaned against the desk as Jarrod gathered the papers he needed. 

“Pappy, it’s not you I’m mad at. I hope you know that.”

A weight was lifted off Jarrod’s shoulders at that admission. He nodded and came around to perch on the desk beside Nick. “I know, Nick.”

“It’s just this whole goddamn situation,” Nick continued without a break. “You’re right, the only way to finish this once and for all isn’t with guns, but dammit, sometimes you need to stand up and fight!”

“I know, Nick,” Jarrod repeated quietly. 

“And then Heath showing up and Father betraying us and knowing how much it hurt Mother that Father had another son…” Nick finally stopped. “I’m sorry, Jarrod. I shouldn’t have taken any of this out on you.”

Jarrod smiled ruefully, glad everything was all right between them again. “You were frustrated that I didn’t grab my gun and go after the goons from the railroad with you as soon as we heard about the notices the farmers got.” Then he shrugged. “You were probably right. If we would have done something then instead of me trying to wait for the courthouse to open, maybe Sig’s farm wouldn’t have burned and Frank and twenty other men might not be dead.”

“And maybe you would be dead instead of just wounded,” Nick told him firmly. “You did what you had to.”

Jarrod clapped Nick on the shoulder. He knew he’d always feel guilty for the deaths at Sample’s, but Nick was right, about his actions and Nick’s own. “And so did you. It’s probably a good thing we don’t always think alike.”

Nick chuckled, but then his expression grew more serious. “You think Heath’s gonna change some of that?”

“Things have to change, Nick,” Jarrod reminded him, “or they go stale. And would you rather sit on a three legged stool or one with only two?”

That got a loud laugh. “Only if we can cut that third leg down to size. Heath’s sure a cocky little bast-” Nick abruptly cut off what he was going to say.

Jarrod chuckled. “I understand completely, Nick. But we might get cut down a little too, y’know.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Jarrod stood. “I have to get going, I’ve got a lot of work to do. You should get moving too,” he added slyly, “Heath’s got a busy day planned for you. Working ranch and all that.”

“Funny, Jarrod,” Nick snorted, but Jarrod could tell he was amused. “Take it easy, okay?”

“You got it.”


	12. Chapter 12

Jarrod took off the sling to ride to town and his arm ached from holding his horse’s reins, but he wasn’t about to use his uninjured right arm. That he kept close to his revolver just in case some of the railroad’s men were lurking about for revenge. He wasn’t about to have gone through all he had to stop Jordan only to be killed for lack of being careful.

Sure enough, the telegrams he was expecting were waiting at his office. He didn’t really want to leave town before Frank Sample’s funeral, but he knew everyone would understand the need to keep the fight’s momentum going. Jarrod didn’t think his presence was essential, but being in the capitol, especially injured, would put a face on the conflict and he knew by humanizing the farmers it was more likely the vote would go with them and against the governor’s veto.

But he didn’t have to leave immediately. Jarrod decided he needed to spend the evening with his family first and went to send the appropriate telegrams.

 

His first awareness was of the throbbing in his skull. He tried to move his hand to his head and that pain was replaced by more agony in his arm when it wouldn’t move.

Jarrod opened bleary eyes and blinked at the flickering shadows thrown around the room by a lone lamp. He realized he was naked, trussed spread-eagled and semi-reclined across a bed and the increased pain in his arm was because it was stretched overhead, his hands tied to the iron bedstead.

What the devil happened? He clearly remembered leaving the telegraph office, but after? Jarrod tried to force away the fog in his brain and hazy bits started to come through. A noise in an alley, a blow to the back of his head? He’d heard groaning for help and, fool that he was, went to see if someone needed him. A rumbling noise and swaying, a train? He remembered a sharp pain in his arm, a dizzy, almost euphoric feeling before everything went black again and realized he’d been drugged as well.

Jarrod knew that it was Jordan even before the rail baron walked into the room.

“So you thought you could get away with it?”

Jarrod looked Jordan steadily in the eye despite his fear and didn’t flinch at the malicious glare. “I did get away with it,” he stated bluntly. “You and I both know congress will override the governor’s veto.”

Jarrod’s head snapped back as Jordan backhanded him across the face. He tasted blood, but there was a tang of victory as well. Jordan could rape, maim or kill him, but his valley and family would still be safe. Not that Jarrod wished for any of those things to happen, but he was a realist and from the look in Jordan’s eyes, at least one if not all three of those things were on his captor’s mind.

Jordan grabbed Jarrod’s face tightly in one hand. “You think you’ve won?” he spat and Jarrod felt the saliva hit his cheek. “Will you still think that when your family receives pieces of you? Certain pieces?” He grabbed Jarrod’s balls, twisted them painfully and Jarrod bit back a scream. “Aren’t these considered delicacies at branding time on a ranch? Maybe I should fry them up and serve them to you on a silver spoon.”

That struck a visceral terror through him. The idea of living out the rest of his days as a gelding wasn’t one he was willing to contemplate, even though he hadn’t had sex since he put an end to their deal and didn’t know if he’d ever willingly do so again. But he wouldn’t give Jordan the satisfaction. He’d made a mistake six years ago, not trusting that he and Nick were strong enough to fight Jordan off, and now he had to pay for it like a man.

“Or what about pictures of what you like to do with me?”

That had been thought of already and Jarrod hoped Nick would remember his promise to denounce his older brother if it came to that. So he just fixed Jordan with a steady gaze as he said, “I’m sure that will make everyone see just what a fine, upstanding citizen you are.”

Jordan uttered a wordless sound of rage before pacing to the other side of the room. The adrenaline from his fear cleared Jarrod’s head and he was able to focus better on his surroundings. The windowless room had a floor of packed earth and held only the bed he was tied to, a chest and a wooden chair. Obviously a basement or cellar and Jarrod’s hopes of any sort of rescue fell. No one would be able to hear him below ground and the chances of anyone thinking to look wherever he was would be slim.

He watched Jordan’s hands unclench and then the rail baron pulled something out from behind the chest. The malicious gleam was back in his eyes as he brandished the thin, flexible stick. “But we have time,” he said, advancing towards Jarrod like a jackal stalking its prey. “You are going to suffer and suffer again and I’m going to take my pleasure of you as many times and as many ways as I want.” Even with his resolve not to give in, Jarrod’s mouth dried up in fear. He gritted his teeth, though, and didn’t make a sound when the switch caught him across the stomach. 

But his composure didn’t last long. Jordan drew his arm back and lashed out again and again, hitting his injured arm, the tender skin of his inner thighs and Jarrod couldn’t help but scream at the direct hits over and over again to his penis and scrotum. At least it was better than being castrated, although if Jordan kept it up, the damage might have the same result anyway. As it was, he was hoarse and tears were streaming down his face when Jordan finally put the stick away.

“Are you ready to beg me for mercy yet?”

He’d begged Jordan once already and that was one time too many. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he could speak even if he wanted to as he looked away. 

Jordan gave a cruel little chuckle. “You will, don’t worry.”

Jarrod tried not to, but he couldn’t stop himself from watching as Jordan unzipped his pants and jerked his cock several times to make it harder. As he’d done in the past, Jordan swiped some blood from Jarrod’s body to slick up his cock and soon he was thrusting viscously into Jarrod’s ass. This time Jarrod’s cock didn’t even twitch and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine the valley and family he’d paid so much to protect instead of the pain in his abused body. 

Jordan finally finished with a satisfied grunt, stood up and refastened his pants. Then he went back to the chest and pulled out a vial and a syringe. “Just a little poppy. I don’t want you hurting too bad. At least, not yet.”

Jarrod’s pulse sped up. He’d rather have the pain; he’d seen too many comrades suffer from what was now dubbed the ‘soldier’s disease’. And if Jordan’s choice of words signified anything, he was going to inject pure opium rather than the modified version of morphine.

It burned when Jordan shot the drug into his arm, but the pain quickly receded and Jarrod started to feel light-headed.

“If you beg nice and pretty next time, I might give you some more.” Jordan opened the room’s only door, blew out the lamp hanging beside it and the room plunged into darkness as the door shut behind him.

That there wasn’t even a glimmer of light was unsettling, but the dark had never bothered Jarrod. The gnawing torment in his groin was receding from the drug, but the euphoria was harder to keep at bay when he couldn’t see. It also made it impossible to concentrate on how to get out of there alive and whole, assuming it could even be done. He hoped he’d be able to take an opportunity if it came, but as the opium took hold, it wasn’t hard to lose himself in a fantasy of riding the wide open range beside his brothers.

 

Jarrod woke and he felt like he was floating in the darkness. The pain from his injuries was still there, but it felt like it belonged to someone else and Jarrod wondered if Jordan had given him at another injection, if not more. Even when he tested the rope tying his hands, the ache in his arm from the gunshot wound seemed far away. But he still had enough presence of mind to take advantage of his euphoric state and he twisted and pulled, trying to loosen his bonds. Luck was with him; the rope Jordan had used wasn’t very solid and the opium allowed Jarrod to ignore the pain as he stretched it enough to slip his hands free.

His head spun when he pushed himself up to untie his legs with fumbling fingers and when he was free, Jarrod hung his head between his bent knees to catch his breath. He was grateful for the darkness; even with the pain relief from the drugs and without being able to see, he knew from the swelling between his legs that his genitals were badly injured. He only hoped it wasn’t permanent.

Jarrod sat there for a few more minutes before he tried to stand. Everything started spinning and he was lucky to catch himself when he collapsed so he only fell to his knees. Pulling himself along, he crawled in the direction he hoped led to the door and cried in relief when his fingers found a hinge. But the tears turned to ones of despair when he tried the knob and found it locked.

His mind cleared eventually as he remembered the chest. If he wasn’t able to escape, hopefully Jordan had something tucked in there that he could at least use to end his life. Assuming it wasn’t locked as well, but Jarrod couldn’t allow himself to dwell on that.

The chest was to the right of the door and Jarrod crawled along the wall until he ran into the wooden box. Pulling himself up again, he tried the lid and collapsed in relief when it opened easily. He reached in and groped through the chest’s contents, only stopping when something sharp sliced into his palm, and he managed to wrap his fingers around the handle of the knife.

Sitting back on his haunches, Jarrod contemplated what he was about to do. He’d promised Nick he wouldn’t try to kill himself again, but these were completely different circumstances and surely his brother would understand, assuming anyone even found out about his demise.

A click echoed in the darkness and Jarrod froze. It sounded like a key in a lock and Jarrod quickly changed his plan. Knife gripped tightly, Jarrod made his way closer to the door. Maybe, just maybe he’d have a chance at his tormentor instead. A sliver of light entered the room and Jarrod didn’t wait to confirm the shadowed figure’s identity before he pounced. He tackled the other man, briefly registering that it was indeed Hannibal Jordan before he brought the knife down.

But Jordan managed to grab him at the last moment and knock the knife out of Jarrod’s hand. Jarrod had a brief moment of panic that his attack had been in vain, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. He‘d landed on top of his assaulter and began pummelling Jordan’s face with all of his strength. Jordan fought back, but Jarrod had the satisfaction of feeling bone crunch beneath his fist. Soon the man’s struggles ceased, but Jarrod didn’t stop. He continued to hit until the pain in his hand wouldn’t let him and he finally collapsed across the still body beneath him.

Jarrod expected some sort of retaliation, but eventually realized Jordan wasn’t moving. Pushing himself up, he looked down and shuddered. It wasn’t even a face anymore, only a bloody pulp, and it was obvious the man was dead. Jarrod knew he should be feeling remorse, revulsion and guilt for what he’d done, but he couldn’t. All he felt was relief that Jordan was dead and couldn’t hurt him or anyone else ever again.

Catching his breath, Jarrod swallowed his disgust and stripped the dead man of his clothes. He tried not to look; as with most men when they died, Jordan had voided his bowels and his bladder, but he knew he was none too clean himself. Then he did glance down when he started to pull on the pants and that sight did make him drop to his hands and knees and retch. He’d castrated enough calves and gelded enough horses in his years on the ranch to know a bare testicle when he saw one and to see the gash in his own scrotum and one ball almost popping out was not a sight he’d wish on any man. Shakily, Jarrod got himself under control and found what he hoped was a clean handkerchief in one of Jordan’s pockets. He tucked it firmly between his legs before pulling up the soiled pants. He knew his hand was badly injured from the repeated impacts with Jordan’s face as he struggled to fasten them and gritted his teeth when he buttoned up the shirt as well. 

Then he struggled to his feet and, leaning heavily on the wall, made his way up the wooden stairs and out of the cellar. He came up into shadows, a long abandoned house by the look of it. Pulling back the ragged curtain that served as a door, Jarrod peered carefully outside and wasn’t surprised to see a narrow street lined with ramshackle buildings. It made sense that Jordan would imprison him in a slum; it was the last place anyone would look and, glancing down, he realized the man’s clothes were shabby enough to blend in.

Wondering if he had the capability to make it somewhere he could get help, Jarrod gritted his teeth and stumbled out into the street. It was deserted; he figured it was midmorning and most of the area’s inhabitants were at whatever jobs they could find. Eventually, he made his way to a busier street and ignored the stares as he found what he was looking for. 

Jarrod stumbled through the door of the doctor’s office. The last thing he saw a man in a white apron come out of a door in the back before his world went black.


	13. Chapter 13

Jarrod woke with agony ripping through his belly and he curled up tightly. He hoped he wasn’t about to throw up as he shook with unexpected chills, but the nausea abated slightly and he took a shaky breath. His whole body ached and as he tried to sit, he realized that his right hand was firmly splinted to a board. Then he moved his leg the wrong way and the pain shooting through his groin was enough to almost send him back into unconsciousness.

“Take it easy, young man.”

Jarrod tried to focus and the image of the doctor he’d seen briefly became clear. Everything slowly came back to him, his abduction, Jordan’s abuse and how he finally killed him as the doctor tucked a pillow behind his back and helped him sit up.

Then Jarrod was overcome with trembling and sweating and the doctor barely got a basin in position before he lost what little was in his stomach. A hand gently gripped his shoulder as he heaved and when he was done, the doctor held a glass of water so he could drink.

“Your hand is broken and some of your cuts are infected. And,” the doctor sighed and dragged a hand over his face, “your genitals were severely damaged. I’m sorry, I had to remove one of your testicles but I’m optimistic that you’ll still be able to father children.”

That revelation was almost more painful than the actual injury. He closed his eyes and tried to tell himself it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He was alive and Jordan was dead. In that light, a testicle probably wasn’t a big price to pay. He still had half his manhood, but it was a severe blow nonetheless, even though he knew more than one woman who would argue with him if he suggested that a pair of balls was necessary to be successful in life.

“Normally I’d call the law in when someone so obviously beaten stumbles through my door, but due to the nature of your injuries… Did you kill him?”

Jarrod didn’t want to cause the doctor any trouble. He also didn’t want anyone else to know what Jordan had done to him and what he’d done in return, but he finished with hiding the truth. “Yes.”

“I suspect it was in self-defence.”

Jarrod nodded and the doctor rested his hand again on Jarrod’s shoulder.

“Can you tell me your name, son?”

“Jarrod Barkley. My… family’s from Stockton.”

“I can send them a message if you’d like.” 

Jarrod nodded again, grateful that the doctor made no more mention of contacting the authorities. If he felt he had to, Jarrod wouldn’t hold it against him, but he appreciated the doctor’s compassion.

“I’ll leave a basin here if you feel sick again,” the doctor told him, “and I’d like to give you some morphine. The pain relief will help you recover faster.”

Jarrod almost shook his head. He reckoned part of how he felt was due to the opium Jordan gave him and the sooner he got it out of his system, the better off he’d be. But he hurt like hell and the relief that the drug would bring was just too tempting so he nodded instead. He held still for the injection, the pain receded and he eventually managed to fall asleep.

He woke a few times, nauseous and in pain. The doctor gave him water, bathed him with cool cloths and gave him a few more doses of morphine. He found out he was in one of the poorer districts in San Francisco, not far from Chinatown, and that his brother Nick had sent a message saying he would be there on the next train.

The doctor finally felt Jarrod could keep down some broth and was helping his patient eat when a loud voice was heard from outside.

“Doc? Doc? Is anyone here?”

“Don’t people realize there might be patients resting?” the doctor grumbled as he set down the bowl and Jarrod smiled for the first time since his abduction.

“It’s just my brother. That’s his quiet voice.”

The doctor snorted, but went out and returned with Nick in tow. Nick set down his hat. “Hey, Pappy, how’re you doing?”

“Could be better.”

“I’ll leave the two of you alone,” the doctor told them. “If you wouldn’t mind helping your brother with that soup, Mr. Barkley?”

“Sure thing.” Nick sat in the chair beside the bed as the doctor left. “Jordan?” he asked as he held a spoonful of broth for Jarrod to take.

“Yeah.”

Nick nodded grimly and fed Jarrod some more soup. “Do I need to go after him?”

Jarrod shook his head slowly. “Nope.” Nick didn’t ask for details as he helped Jarrod finish the broth. 

Nick set down the empty bowl. “We searched everywhere when you went missing,” he told Jarrod. “I also checked on Jordan’s whereabouts, just in case. Right before the doc contacted us, I got a message that he was seen in the city about four days ago, but no one’s heard from him since.”

Four days. Jarrod had no idea how long he’d been Jordan’s captive or how long he’d been under the doctor’s care. “How long has it been?”

“Almost a week.” Nick eyed him closely. “Doc says you’ll be okay. What do you say?”

Jarrod sighed and closed his eyes. Nick knew and accepted most of the sordid details about his relationship with Jordan and that support meant the world to him, but there was no way he was going to tell his brother how he’d been maimed. “I don’t even know what okay is anymore, Nick.” His eyes opened when Nick’s strong hand held the back of his neck in a comforting grip.

“I’ll get you home, Jarrod, and you just let us take care of you, all right? All anyone needs to know is you were attacked and robbed on the street and it took a few days before you could let anyone know who you were.”

Jarrod’s eyes welled up. “Thanks, Nick,” he whispered. 

“And if Jordan’s body turns up, he was shot by an unknown gunman,” Nick added grimly.

“He wasn’t shot.” Jarrod had to pause as he tried to come to terms with how his attacker died. “I beat him to death, Nick. I smashed his face to a bloody pulp. I doubt anyone will be able to identify him.”

“Huh.” Nick was silent for a moment and then grabbed his brother’s arm supportively. “Well, you just hang tight. I’m gonna go see when the doc thinks I can take you home. I’ll be right back.”

Jarrod sank back against the pillow. Jordan was dead and he was alive. His family was intact, even more than intact with the addition of Heath, and there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. Even though Crowne was a tough businessman, Jarrod got the sense he would be more willing to deal than his predecessor and he was confident they could work out something that would satisfy progress and the farmers.

He’d never completely be free of what he’d endured at Jordan’s hands. The scars in his mind were at least as deep as the ones on his body and he was under no illusion that they’d ever fade away. And he knew the image of Jordan’s ruined face after he’d beat him to death would always be there when he closed his eyes, forever reminding him of the monster that lurked deep inside.

But all that really mattered was that he still had his life and his family and if he told himself that enough times, one day he might actually believe it.


	14. Chapter 14

Heath hesitated, hand poised to knock. Was it really his business? He’d only been a member of the family for two weeks, did he really have a right to confront one of them without any proof? Well, it wasn’t really without proof. Anyone who’d seen enough during the war knew the symptoms for what they were. He wasn’t surprised that Nick didn’t see it, though. He could tell how close the two brothers were and it was probably easier for Nick to explain his brother’s irritability and other symptoms as residual strain from his ordeal at Hannibal Jordan’s hands. 

But Heath knew. He’d seen it too many times after Carterson, the shaking, the sweating, the inability to control emotions. Morphine was a miracle drug, but that miracle concealed the demon it truly was. He didn’t know the exact circumstances of what Jarrod had suffered during those days when he went missing and returned home beaten and battered, but his brother needed help. Maybe being the newcomer and not as close made him the right person to give that help after all.

Taking a deep breath, Heath knocked on the door. “Jarrod?” he asked softly. “It’s Heath. Can I talk to you?” He heard footsteps, the turn of the lock and the door opened.

“Come on in.” Jarrod turned and walked back to the chair by the fireplace. Heath didn’t comment on the haggard appearance, a distinct contrast from the good-looking man he’d first met, or the shaking of his brother’s hand as he picked up the cigar that was smouldering in the ashtray. He just carefully closed the door and pulled the other chair closer before sitting.

“Missed you at dinner.”

Jarrod took a drag on his cigar. “I wasn’t hungry. I had a late breakfast.”

Heath stared at his hands in his lap, working out how to broach such a delicate subject with a man he barely knew.

“Nick giving you trouble?”

Heath looked up and gave Jarrod a wry smile. No, he didn’t know Jarrod well, but from what he’d seen, it was completely in character for Jarrod to think of someone other than himself. “I don’t reckon it’s easy for him, having to share command, but he’s trying.” Jarrod didn’t need to hear how they butted heads over almost every decision. Heath knew there was a deep respect growing between he and Nick; he was just as stubborn as their brother and they’d figure it out eventually. “It’s you I wanted to talk about.” Might as well lay it out in the open.

Jarrod raised an eyebrow. “Me? I hope I haven’t been making this hard for you. If I have, I’m glad you’re telling me,” he said lightly. 

“No, Jarrod, no one could ask for more.” Heath held Jarrod’s gaze with a steady look. “You’re having trouble, Jarrod,” he said bluntly. “I’ve seen it before and I want you to know that I’ll do everything I can to help you through it if you’ll let me.”

Jarrod looked away and set his cigar down carefully. “I don’t know what you mean, brother Heath.”

“Yes, you do.” Heath wasn’t going to let the lawyer smooth talk his way out of it. “If I had a look around, I’ll wager I’d find something, morphine, laudanum…” He waited for Jarrod’s reaction. As he expected, Jarrod fist clenched and his face contorted with rage. But unexpectedly, Jarrod took a deep breath and was able to control himself.

“Laudanum,” he admitted quietly. “I ran out of morphine. If I could get my hands on some more without anyone knowing, I probably would. I know I should stop, but it just gets too much…”

Heath leaned over and rested his hand on Jarrod’s clenched fist. “What happened?” But Jarrod didn’t talk, he just shook his head and kept his eyes lowered. “It always helps to talk, y’know. It helped me, after Carterson.”

Jarrod’s head snapped up and Heath nodded.

“Seven months before the end of the war. Over two hundred men died while I was there. A good number more of them would’ve died without the relief that the morphine brought. Some of them died because of it.” Heath looked steadily at Jarrod again. “It could kill you, Jarrod, if it doesn’t kill the family first.”

Swiping tears off his face, Jarrod nodded. “I just don’t know how else to keep the pain and the nightmares away.”

Heath stood. Jarrod would probably be able to open up more if he knew they wouldn’t be overheard. “Let’s get out of here. Nick went off to town to meet some friends, so he won’t notice if we sneak out. Any good fishing holes nearby?” He was gratified when Jarrod chuckled weakly.

“One or two.” He got to his feet and went to grab his jacket before Heath stopped him.

“Get the laudanum, too.”

Jarrod looked like he was going to argue, but Heath stood firm and Jarrod eventually nodded. He pulled two bottles out of a drawer and wordlessly handed them over. Heath tucked them inside his vest so they wouldn’t be noticed and the brothers quietly left the house. Pausing by the barn, Heath watched Jarrod out of the corner of his eye as he emptied the bottles Jarrod was looking away, hands clenched, and Heath put a hand on his shoulder when he was done.

“I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I’ll be with you as long as you need me, Jarrod.”

 

Jarrod took a shaky breath and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was doing his best not to be angry with Heath; he knew his new brother was only trying to help and if he had to be honest with himself, he knew everything Heath said was true. But seeing the contents of those two bottles drain away into the ground was almost more than he could handle. One of those bottles would have let him sleep that night; it would have helped take away the pain that still lingered in his groin and hand, not to mention make it easier to ignore the horrific images that still crept into his mind.

But Jarrod forcibly reminded himself that Heath had endured as much as he had, and part of it was his own fault, unlike his brother who was a victim of war. He glanced over at the blond as they gathered up the fishing gear and saddled two horses. How young must Heath have been anyway? His brain wasn’t working as well as usual and it took a couple tries, but Jarrod was finally able to do the math and the answer saddened him. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen when the war ended and Jarrod was chagrined. If Heath could survive a hellhole like Carterson at such a young age, surely he could manage to stop using opium and learn to live with what Hannibal Jordan had done.

The ride to the pond was quiet. Jarrod hadn’t ridden much since his injury and the ache between his legs grew with every step. He sagged in relief when they finally arrived. He would have loved to strip off his pants and soak himself in the cool water, but even though Heath had figured out the opium use, he wasn’t about to disclose how he’d been mutilated. So he just tried to make himself comfortable on the bank after they dropped their hooks in the water and hoped Heath wouldn’t notice his discomfort.

“I still wake up in a cold sweat sometimes,” Heath said after they fished in silence for a while. “I remember shivering from fever after being whipped, not knowing if one of the men I’d served with would decide the scrap of blanket I had was worth killing me for. I still wake up sometimes, hearing the moans of those who were dying and wondering if I’ll be next.”

“He raped me,” Jarrod admitted in a low voice, unable to keep silent in the face of Heath’s own confession. “Brutally and repeatedly.” If he was going to make a clean breast of it, he might as well admit all. Heath might as well know what kind of man he was getting for a brother. “I agreed to it at first, years ago, to protect the family. Then when he took me after the gunfight…” Jarrod couldn’t look at Heath, afraid of what he might see. “He drugged me, tortured me and raped me again. I was going to kill myself so it wouldn’t happen another time, but I was able to kill him first.” 

Heath was silent and Jarrod’s hands tightened on his rod. Then the line jerked as a fish bit and Jarrod cursed when the rod was almost pulled out of his hands. He got up to reel it in, but his feet were unsteady, the fish was obviously a large one and Jarrod stumbled to land face first in the water.

“Fuck!” he swore, pushing himself up, and gladly took the hand Heath offered. The cool air and his wet clothes made him shiver and that, combined with the tremors that were likely from not having had a dose of opium for a while made him shake in earnest. Heath grabbed him, sat him down by a rock and started gathering wood. 

“You can’t afford to get sick now, Jarrod,” Heath told him as he laid a fire. “You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch a chill.”

Jarrod could see the wisdom of that, but he really didn’t want Heath to see his naked body, the scars and the empty skin where part of his manhood used to be. “I’ll be fine, Heath.”

Heath nursed the tiny blaze he had going until it was burning strongly. “Jarrod, you’re either gonna take those clothes off yourself or I’m going to take them off for you. Nick gets grumpy enough normally, I don’t want him to blame me for you getting sick.”

“Fine!” he snapped, not bothering to control his temper any more. He pulled off his boots and tossed them aside. His shirt followed, losing several buttons as he practically tore it off. He didn’t let himself think as he ripped off his pants and stood naked in front of Heath. “You happy?” he snarled, a slight tremble in his voice. “You like what you see?” But he didn’t expect the heavy saddle blanket wrapped around his shoulders and the warmth of Heath’s embrace as he pulled him down next to the fire.

“I didn’t know, Jarrod,” came the soft drawl. “But there’s nothing wrong with what I’m looking at.” Jarrod held his breath as Heath’s hand moved hesitantly towards his groin and his fingers gently stroked the still livid scar. Then Heath pulled his hand away and Jarrod saw the chagrin on his face.

“You don’t have to stop,” he whispered, the tremble in his voice for an entirely different reason. Heath was a good-looking man, but they were brothers. Not that that stopped the pleasurable thrill Heath’s resumed touch brought him. He knew he should ask Heath to stop, but… Part of his aversion to sex was that he’d lost his ability to trust another enough to allow that level of intimacy, but he instinctively knew he could trust Heath with his life and more.

“Jarrod, if you ask me to stop, I will.” Heath’s hand moved from stroking his empty sac to brush against his slowly-filling penis. “But I don’t really want to.”

“I don’t want you to either.” Then his breath caught as Heath bent over and tenderly licked his maimed scrotum. Jarrod clenched his hands and unwanted tears rolled down his face from the surge of emotion that overcame him.

Heath’s warm breath left him suddenly. “Jarrod? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was hurting you.”

Jarrod shook his head. “No, Heath, you weren’t, I…” This time, he couldn’t control his emotions and to his embarrassment, started sobbing uncontrollably. He tried to pull away in shame for his weakness, but Heath held him securely and wouldn’t let him go.

“It’s okay, Jarrod,” Heath murmured soothingly. “It’s the pain and the drugs, you can’t help it. Just get it out, I won’t let you go.”

It took a while before Jarrod exhausted himself and when he pulled away again, Heath let him. “Do I disgust you?’ Heath asked in a quiet voice.

Jarrod was taken aback. If anyone should be disgusted, it should be Heath. “You didn’t sell yourself to a man you hated,” he replied, equally quiet.

“You said you did it to protect your family,” Heath rebutted. He reached his hand down to stroke Jarrod’s scars. “Do they know?”

“Nick knows some,” Jarrod admitted. “He knows about what I did with Jordan, but he doesn’t know about…” He made an abortive motion to his injured manhood.

Heath nodded and caressed Jarrod’s cock and remaining ball. “Does it bother you, that I like doing this?”

“No.” Jarrod closed his eyes and concentrated on Heath’s touch for a moment. “Do you prefer to be with men?” Heath’s hand paused. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.” He sucked in a breath as his cock twitched. “I’m sure it’s obvious that I do, but it’s been a long time.”

Heath’s hand resumed stroking him. “I know you’re my brother, but you’re also a good-looking man. I’ve gotten used to admiring and just moving on. It’s hard to know when a man’ll take kindly to this sort of attention.” Then his head dipped down again and Jarrod felt his hot breath as he said, “I’ve thought about doing this more than once.”

Jarrod shuddered as his cock was enveloped in moist heat. It had been a long time since he’d found himself in someone’s mouth and the fact that it was someone he was already developing a close emotional bond to threatened to consume him. Again, his fragile emotions took over and he cried as Heath brought him shuddering to his climax. “Heath,” he gasped and his brother once again wrapped him in his arms.

“I’ve got you, Jarrod. I won’t let you fall.”


	15. Chapter 15

Heath knew things were going to get worse for Jarrod before they got better so he made sure to tell Victoria about his brother’s fall into the pond when they got home, earning a glare from Jarrod as his mother fussed over him. But when Heath rose early and checked in on him the next morning, he found a pale and sweaty Jarrod curled up in a tight ball on his bed.

“You were right, Heath,” Jarrod told him with a wan smile. “Maybe everyone’ll think it was just the dunking I took this way.”

Heath poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the washstand and took it over. Jarrod’s hand shook and Heath helped him hold the glass steady so it didn’t spill. “You want me to bring you up some breakfast?”

Jarrod shook his head, swallowing uneasily. “No. I don’t think I could keep anything down.”

“I’ll let the family know.” Heath grabbed Jarrod’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll try to hold them off, but I’m sure your mother’ll be up to check on you.”

Lying back down, Jarrod didn’t even protest as he closed his eyes. “I think I’ll just stay in bed today.”

Heath patted his shoulder again before getting up. “Try to get some rest.” But as he left the room, he knew he’d have to keep a close eye on Jarrod. His brother was determined to shake the demon that had hold of him, but after watching more than one friend struggle with that same demon, he knew it might grow too strong to be ignored. It wasn’t as if he could get rid of all laudanum in the house without explaining himself; it was such a common remedy that someone would notice. And chances were Jarrod was still capable of heading into town to search out morphine or opium himself if the demon called too loudly.

There was also the rest of what happened for Jarrod to deal with, and that something Heath had a more personal familiarity with. He didn’t want to take away from his brother’s pain by telling him he’d been subjected to some of the same torture; it wasn’t just Carterson that haunted his dreams. Heath shivered at the remembered terror of his Uncle Matt taking him to the cellar; he’d never forget the pain and shame of having his child’s body used for the older man’s pleasure in that dank, dark space. But he’d gotten past it, one good thing that came out of Carterson and having to find whatever comfort you could to stay alive. The young soldier had learned that pleasure could be mutual and an affirmation of life in a place that held only death.

Heath wondered if that might help his brother to heal. What they’d done yesterday at the pond seemed to be good for Jarrod, but Heath felt a bit guilty that he might have taken advantage of a momentary weakness. He’d admired Jarrod’s trim form and handsome face more than once, but like he’d said, he’d gotten use to looking without any expectations. Then there was the fact that they were brothers, half-brothers but still kin. Heath already reckoned he was going to burn in Hell for dallying with men; it probably didn’t compound his sin that much more if he and that man shared a father. It might bother Jarrod, though, and even though he’d be disappointed, Heath could and would respect whatever his brother chose.

Maybe if he got Jarrod away from everything, from the temptation of more drugs and the prying eyes of family, maybe that would help. But he’d have to talk to Nick. They were still feeling their way out with each other and he knew he couldn’t just up and spirit Jarrod away without discussing the situation with Nick first. He would never betray Jarrod’s confidence, but from what Jarrod had told him, Nick already knew the worst.

Heath took Nick aside after breakfast. “I need to talk to you about Jarrod.”

He felt better when Nick heaved a sigh and nodded, indicating he already had an idea that something was going on with their brother. “He didn’t just take a chill, did he?”

Heath shrugged and tried to act as if things weren’t that serious. “He’s having some problems with what happened to him when he was kidnapped.” He hoped he wouldn’t have to explain too much further.

Nick glanced up at Jarrod’s window and then looked back to Heath. “What has he told you?”

“He told me what happened with Jordan.”

“Huh.”

Both brothers were silent for a few moments.

Heath spoke first. “I’ve seen things like this before, Nick, during the war. I was thinking it might be better for him to get away from everything for a few days or so, maybe just have someone around that he doesn’t know real well.”

Nick pursed his lips in thought. “You offering?”

“Jarrod and I seem to have an understanding,” Heath confirmed without going into more details. “Think we can get the rest of the family on board?”

“Not without explaining more than we want to.” The two brothers were silent again. “How about we pack up a wagon and you can get him up to the line shack on the farthest north corner? It’s actually an old cabin, so it’s pretty big. We keep it well stocked and it’s far enough away. We’ll smuggle Jarrod out of the house and I’ll tell Mother when you’re long gone.” He sighed. “Reckon Mother has some idea things aren’t right. As long as she trusts that he’ll be better with some time away after everything that’s happened in the past couple weeks, she probably won’t pry.”

Heath had his doubts, but Victoria was Nick’s mother and he likely knew her best.

Then Nick fixed Heath with a hard glare. “But you tell that brother of ours if he does anything stupid, he’ll be answering to me.”

There was something more to that statement than what was on the surface and Heath was pretty sure he knew what Nick was talking about. He hadn’t missed the fine scars on Jarrod’s arms the previous day and took Nick’s words as seriously as they were uttered. “Will do. But I’ll keep a close enough eye on him he won’t have much of a chance.”

Nick nodded, took another look at the window and clapped Heath on the back. “I’ll get the wagon, you go let big brother know the plan.”

Jarrod was still dozing when Heath snuck back into his room after packing his own gear, but he didn’t look comfortable. He was shivering, his hand was twitching and Heath almost didn’t have the heart to wake him, even though he knew Jarrod’s sleep was anything but restful. He gently shook Jarrod’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly and Jarrod started awake.

“Heath? What…?”

“I’m getting you out of here,” Heath told him as he pulled out some of Jarrod’s clothes and tossed them on the bed. “Why don’t you put these on?” He was gratified to see Jarrod pull off his sleeping pants and follow his instructions as he packed more clothes and other necessities into a bag.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Jarrod said as he fumbled with his shirt buttons.

“Things are just gonna get worse before they get better,” Heath told him, voicing his thoughts from earlier. “Reckon it might go easier if you didn’t have to worry about your mother and sister watching.” He didn’t add that it was for the best Jarrod was taken far away from any temptations. 

Jarrod nodded, but looked concerned. “They’re gonna worry, you know.”

Heath nodded back. “Nick’s got our backs. He’s already worried about you.”

“Damn, Heath, I don’t want to be so much trouble…”

Heath cut him off. “That first night you told me family sticks together. You taking that back?”

Jarrod’s shoulders slumped in resignation and Heath grabbed his shoulder in a gesture of support. “C’mon, Nick likely has that wagon ready.” He picked up Jarrod’s bag and smiled at the soft, “Thanks, Heath,” he heard behind him. He only hoped Jarrod would be thanking him a few days from then.


	16. Chapter 16

Jarrod woke up and, for the first time in days, didn’t wish he were dead. He still felt awful, but the cramping in his belly had eased and his heart didn’t feel like it was going to burst out of his chest with every beat. Taking a shaky breath, he unfolded his body from its curled up position and stretched his aching muscles. His nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of stale sweat and other odours he would rather not identify. The first order of business was a good wash, he told himself, and since he finally felt hungry, a good meal after that.

Jarrod swung his legs over the edge of the bed but paused when a wave of dizziness washed over him. As he waited for the room to stop spinning, he heard noises coming from the other room. It sounded like someone doing something at the stove and Jarrod felt guilty for what he’d put Heath through the past several days. He didn’t remember everything, but he could clearly recall his brother holding him through bouts of pain and nausea, not letting him go even when he got verbally abusive, demanding Heath let him leave and find more morphine. Jarrod’s face burned with shame as he remembered the names he’d called Heath, and vowed he would tell and show this man who stuck by him how much he was appreciated and how much he meant to him every chance he got.

Dragging a hand over his face, Jarrod got up, found a pair of drawers and put them on before walking slowly to the main room. Heath must have heard him, since he turned and gave Jarrod a grin.

“Glad to see you up and around.”

Jarrod returned the smile with a faint one of his own. “Glad to see you’re still talking to me,” he replied, only half in jest.

“I’ve heard worse. And I reckon you weren’t really yourself.” Heath gestured with his head towards the door. “There’s some water out in the lean-to if you want to wash up. Should still be warm and I’ll have this soup ready by the time you’re done.”

“You read my mind,” Jarrod told him gratefully, still guilty but relieved Heath seemed to understand that he never meant any of those hurtful words. The water wasn’t hot, but it was warm enough and he felt almost human again once he’d practically scrubbed himself raw. Returning to the table, a delicious scent assaulted his nose from the bowl set in front of him and Jarrod was happily surprised when he tasted its contents. “Your soup is almost as good as Silas’,” he complimented.

Heath grinned as he sat down with his own lunch. “That’s ‘cause it is. Nick came by while you were sleeping and brought some supplies. I told him you were doing okay and we’d be back sometime in the next couple days.” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

Jarrod nodded. “I think the worst is over,” he confirmed and then sighed. “At least, I hope so.”

“Back to bed after lunch,” Heath informed him, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re still pretty pale.”

Jarrod didn’t intend to argue. Even though it felt good to be up and around, he was exhausted after the little exertion he’d done. “As long as you help me make up the bed with some clean linens,” he said, remembering the sad state the bedding had been in. Now that he was clean, he had no desire to lie back down on those sheets.

“You bet.”

There was a lot unsaid between them, Jarrod knew as they made short work of the soup and the fresh bread that came with it, lingering over the last of the coffee. His mind kept returning to what happened that day at the pond and wondered how or if he should bring it up. Heath had touched him without hesitation and Jarrod’s cock twitched at the remembered feeling of that touch. It was likely just a moment of pity, Jarrod told himself. They were still brothers after all and it wasn’t something likely to be repeated, no matter how much he yearned to be with Heath again. He sighed.

“Something on your mind?”

“Nothing important,” Jarrod replied with a dismissive shake of his head. “Just tired.”

Heath pushed back from the table. “Reckon I can help you with that.” Jarrod followed him into the bedroom and together they stripped the soiled linens off the bed and replaced them with fresh. “Want some company?” Jarrod looked up at the soft drawl as he pulled off his drawers. To his surprise, Heath’s eyes held a certain yearning. “I’m sorry if I took advantage of you back at the pond and I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. But I meant what I said. I’d imagined being with you before and since then, it’s been hard to get the taste and feel of you out of my mind.”

Jarrod’s cock started to fill at Heath’s words. “I do want you, Heath. God help me, but I do,” he admitted, his voice slightly unsteady with the strength of his longing.

Heath’s expression turned to one of relief but it soon changed to undisguised lust. He quickly took off his clothes to display his own obvious desire. Jarrod hadn’t seen his brother naked before and the large cock jutting proudly from the thick hair on his groin both aroused and intimidated him. If Heath wanted to truly fuck him, could he…? Jarrod pushed the thought away. Heath wasn’t Jordan and besides, he owed Heath so much. It wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice to let him use his body and from the sensual touch he remembered, it might not be any kind of sacrifice at all.

Heath pulled Jarrod close when they got under the covers, hands roaming over back and buttocks, and Jarrod took the initiative to run his hand through the nest of curls between Heath’s legs. He gently rolled Heath’s balls between his fingers, eliciting a low moan, and Jarrod had a pang of regret when he mentally compared his maimed body with Heath’s perfect one. That was, until he reached around to touch Heath’s back and encountered a rough ridge that was obviously a large scar. He remembered Heath telling him about being whipped in Carterson and realized he and Heath had more in common than he’d originally guessed.

But Heath didn’t seem discomfited at Jarrod’s touch. He just kissed and nipped at Jarrod’s shoulder as he reached down and took Jarrod’s cock in his large hand, pushing it up against his own hard shaft and stroking them together. A rush of pleasure raced through Jarrod at the contact and he started to move his hips, thrusting against Heath. The pleasure intensified until it became almost unbearable and it wasn’t long before they were both coated in the sticky heat of a mutual climax.

“Sorry if the sheets are messy again,” Heath murmured against Jarrod’s neck and Jarrod chuckled.

“I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Heath replied by wrapping Jarrod tightly in his arms. “Get some sleep,” he ordered gently, “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

 

Heath listened to Jarrod’s breathing even out as he drifted off to sleep. It had been a rough… What was it? Five, six days? He was glad he’d taken Jarrod away; he couldn’t imagine Victoria or Audra having to deal with what their son and brother had to go through. But it was over, at least the immediate struggle. It was still going to take time before the demon was completely off Jarrod’s back, but his brother was strong and Heath had no doubt Jarrod would come out on top.

That last though made Heath grin wryly. He wouldn’t complain if Jarrod wanted to be on top and from what had just happened, it was certainly within the realm of possibility. He wasn’t sure what sort of experience Jarrod had with the physical side of a relationship with a man, other than what he admitted to have suffered at Hannibal Jordan’s hands. Sometimes though, you had to realize pleasure could be given before you could give it yourself and being a patient man, Heath was willing take things as they came and drifted off to sleep with a light heart.

 

When Jarrod woke, he was more rested than he’d been in a long time. Heath was spooned up against his back and as he moved closer, Heath’s arm tightened around his chest. Jarrod sighed with a contentment that had long been absent. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have the love and support of people he trusted in his life, but he hadn’t realized how much he missed the kind of physical intimacy that he’d just shared with Heath. Again he experienced a twinge of panic and ruthlessly pushed away the desire for a shot of morphine to dull the anxiety. He was here with Heath because his brother was worthy of his trust; he knew Heath would never hurt him and if Heath wanted to take that intimacy to its inevitable conclusion, he would readily submit.

If as in answer to his thoughts, something hot and hard started pushing against his backside. Jarrod held his breath, wondering if Heath was awake and if what he’d been contemplating might happen if or when he was.

“Morning,” came the voice from behind him, “or evening most likely.” Heath’s hand moved lazily over Jarrod’s stomach, circling lower and lower until it brushed his groin. His hard cock pressed into the crease of Jarrod’s ass and Jarrod shuddered in nervous anticipation. “What do you want, Jarrod?” Heath whispered into his ear as his hand stroked his growing cock. “Just tell me and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“I… don’t know,” he replied hesitantly. “I want to please you, Heath, it’s just…” 

“Jarrod, I ain’t going to ask for anything you don’t want to give.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” and Jarrod realized he did want to give that to Heath. It was just… “It just hasn’t always been good.”

The rumble of Heath’s chuckle was comforting. “I’ll always make it good,” he drawled, “trust me.”

Jarrod did trust him, but when Heath kissed his way down Jarrod’s spine, Jarrod had no idea what he was up to until he felt the hot breath as Heath parted his buttocks. “Heath,” he started to protest, but was cut off by the thrill of pleasure when Heath’s tongue circled his hole. A hand snaked between Jarrod’s legs to play with his scrotum as his mouth worked Jarrod’s ass, the tip of his tongue entering and licking the sensitive tissue. “Oh, god.” Jarrod pushed back to get more contact and Heath’s tongue was joined by an insistent finger that probed and then slipped inside. It curled and when it found the right spot, Jarrod gasped at the pleasure.

Then Heath’s mouth and the finger left as Heath got up. “Don’t move,” he said as he left the room.

Jarrod took a deep breath to settle his nerves and again wished for some morphine or even a spoonful of laudanum. _No,_ he told himself firmly, _you don’t need anything like that. Just trust him._

Heath returned with a small tin Jarrod recognized as lard and desire flared as he watch the blond coat his large cock. Heath crawled back into the bed and gently nudged Jarrod onto his belly. Again his hard cock slid between Jarrod’s buttocks. “I’ll stop whenever you ask,” Heath told him, but Jarrod was determined not to ask. A quick flash of pain and before he knew it Heath was inside, thrusting slowly. Even though it was the same act, Jarrod quickly realized it was different from all the other times. Heath wasn’t rutting with him for his own pleasure and he shivered in delight when Heath’s hands slid down his arms and grasped his fingers in an intimate gesture. He started to push back into the thrusts and Heath moved with him to take him even further. Jarrod worked his hand beneath his body to stroke himself at the same time.

“That’s it,” Heath muttered as they picked up the pace. “I want you to cum, Jarrod. I want you to cum for me before I take my own pleasure.” Those words that echoed his own thoughts were all Jarrod needed to take him over the edge; he cried out when his seed smeared against the sheets and his belly as his muscles involuntarily clenched around Heath’s cock. Heath drove harder and soon Jarrod could feel him pulsing as he reached his own climax.

“I never knew it could be so good,” Jarrod whispered when he caught his breath. Heath rolled off and pulled Jarrod to him.

“To be honest, I prefer it that way,” Heath said to Jarrod’s surprise, “when I’m the one being fucked, even though the other way around’s nothing to complain about either. Reckon you could oblige me next time?”

Jarrod was momentarily speechless. That certainly wasn’t something he expected to hear and even though he’d just climaxed, he felt a nudge of interest from his cock. “Oh, I think that could be arranged,” he finally said.

“Good.” 

They basked in the comfort of each other’s bodies for a long while. Heath eventually propped himself up on one elbow. “How are you doing?”

He knew Heath wasn’t really asking about how he felt after the fabulous sex. Searching himself, Jarrod knew the burning need for the drugs was finally absent, but there was still a lingering desire for the warm euphoria the morphine brought. “I still want it,” he admitted. “I don’t need it, but…” He sighed. “It’s gonna be hard.”

Heath’s fingers brushed the hair at the nape of Jarrod’s neck. “Yes, it is, and I’m glad to hear you know it, too.” Then his lips grazed Jarrod’s ear. “Maybe I can help keep you distracted.”

Jarrod chuckled. “That shouldn’t be hard.”

“Well, maybe it should be,” Heath teased and Jarrod’s cock reacted. “It’d be kind of difficult for you to do me if it wasn’t.” That got the obvious response and Heath reached over to grab the tin of lard. “Let me help you with that,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Taking a generous amount on his fingers, Heath slowly stroked Jarrod’s cock to its full size.

“That feels incredible,” Jarrod groaned and Heath grinned.

“And this ain’t even the main event.” Heath rolled onto his back and spread his legs. “I’ve got something more incredible right here.”

Jarrod moved in between Heath’s bent knees. “Are you sure?”

“Damn, Jarrod.” Heath’s eyes caught Jarrod’s in an intense gaze. “I want you to fuck me so hard we’ll have to stay an extra day before I can sit in the wagon.”

Jarrod nodded and grasped his slick cock, lining it up with Heath’s entrance. He met resistance as he pushed and hesitated.

“Just shove it in, Jarrod,” Heath breathed, “as hard as you can.”

Taking a deep breath, Jarrod did as he was told and his cock was instantly engulfed in the most exquisite heat. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered as he paused to get used to the tightness. 

“That’s the point,” Heath groaned. “Now I’m sure you can do better than that.”

Jarrod pushed in further before he pulled out most of the way and then snapped his hips forward, making Heath moan as he reached down to stroke himself. It had been so long since he’d been the one doing the fucking that he started to lose control and began slamming into Heath’s ass as hard and fast as he could. His vision started to blur as waves of pleasure washed over him harder and harder, the pressure built behind his driving cock and he let out a guttural moan as he exploded. He kept pumping with small, short thrusts as more of his seed was deposited in Heath’s ass and then he suddenly felt drained. Sitting back on his haunches, Jarrod’s cock slid out of Heath’s hot tightness. He opened his eyes as he drew in a shaky breath, worried that he might have hurt Heath, but his brother’s stomach was coated with milky strands of cum and his face held a blissful expression.

Jarrod lay down and pulled Heath into his arms. “I didn’t hurt you?”

Heath’s blue eyes opened a crack. “Hell, no. That was the best fuck I’ve had in a long time. I hope you’ll be up for that again.”

Jarrod flushed with embarrassed pride. “Just not anytime soon. I don’t think I have anything left.”

“Nope, likely not,” Heath agreed with a chuckle, “if your climax was anything like mine.”

They relaxed in each other’s arms until Heath finally stretched and said, “Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Leaning over, he surprised Jarrod with a soft kiss on the lips. “Glad your feeling better.”

Jarrod watched as Heath pulled on his pants and left the room. His scars would never leave him, he knew, but he also knew that with his brother's help, he’d finally be able to heal.


End file.
